Back In Black
by chrissymi
Summary: Dean had escaped the Crossroad Demon’s Deal, only Sam wasn’t sure Dean had actually been saved at all. He was 'broken' in so many ways. Sam was beginning to think Dean had brought back more than just a little piece of Hell with him. Hurt!Dean, Angsty!Sam.
1. Prologue

_**BACK IN BLACK follows on directly from HIGHWAY TO **__**HELL and I really suggest you read it first. But, I've included a brief summary below, if you'd rather read a very condensed version. **_

_**If you already have read HIGHWAY TO HELL**__**, then by all means skip the summary. **_

_**BACK IN BLACK begins with the next chapter.**_

_**I hope you enjoy.**_

**oooOOOooo**

**HIGHWAY TO HELL Summary**

The Crossroad Demon's contract was binding, iron clad; end of story. Dean was going to die, or Sam was. And Dean wasn't about to let Sam die again! Only Sam wasn't so willing to give in.

With the clock literally ticking down the days Dean had finally accepted facts, even though Sam couldn't; he was a dead man walking…

Dean had already forced himself to accept facts; he was going to die, and his time could be counted in days. Torn to shreds by huge invisible Hell Hounds, hounds he was sure he'd already heard, late at night, and possibly even glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. Hounds that he knew he would eventually see, when his time was up, even when others still couldn't.

_**Dodge City. KANSAS.**_

And now they were in Dodge City. Sam's relentless pursuit had been hidden under the guise of meeting up with Bobby. Their reunion began with a few coffees, some doughnuts and casual chit-chat, with both Sam and Bobby tactfully avoiding the pressing issue at hand.

However, tact wasn't one of Dean's specialties…

"So, as a dead man walking, I say I go out in style!" Dean smiled as he said it, already anticipating the dropped jaws and silent awe that he would provoke. "I want… whiskey - _good whiskey_ - women and par-tey!" Dean's eyebrows wiggled with anticipated delight.

oooOOOooo

_**Dodge City, KANSAS**_

_**King Solomon Motel**_

As his time drew closer Dean had demanded he'd go out with a bang. Celebrate his life rather than mourn him. And Bobby and Sam had put on brave faces and come to the party, just for Dean. And, after a night of drinking, strictly top shelf stuff, both Sam and Bobby were pretty out of it, enough not to have noticed that Dean hadn't actually consumed anywhere near as much alcohol as they'd thought. By the time they had begun on the second bottle of whiskey their bodily defenses had kicked in and both Dean's companions pretty much passed out.

It certainly made sneaking away a lot easier. Dean couldn't bear to have Sam or Bobby witness his ultimate death at the gory jaws of the Crossroad Demon's Hell Hounds. And he couldn't risk the Hounds going for a two for one deal in the Winchester stakes. He couldn't put Sam or Bobby at risk.

And besides, he was never, ever, one for chick-flick soppy, drawn out, good-byes.

Dean rearranged his belongings on top of his bed. He flipped Sam's laptop open and left him a quick note. He removed his amulet and ring, his only real personal possessions, valuable enough to him that he wasn't about to let the Hell Hounds ravage them. He placed them carefully on the bedside table by Sam's side, along with his cell phone. He wouldn't need that any more either and he didn't want them trying to contact him. He was going to die, he'd faced that now, and any discussions to the contrary would be far too disturbing. He'd rather not hope; it would make things far harder when his time came. Last of all he slipped a carefully written set of instructions underneath his phone, on how Sam should look after the Impala. The car was his only other valued possession.

Even as he drove away he had to tighten his grip on the Impala's steering wheel because his hands trembled uncontrollably. A foreboding ache grew somewhere in the pit of his stomach and he found himself almost hyperventilating with trepidation…

_**The following morning…**_

Sam, still dazed and intoxicated, took a few minutes to register anything at all.

"Dean's gone." Sam whispered to Bobby as he stared blankly at Dean's amulet and ring. He knew exactly what they meant. Dean was gone, and he wasn't coming back. Sam moved to the window and squinted out into the car park. "Car's gone too."

Sam's heart leapt up into his throat, momentarily, when he heard a low gravelly rumble entering the motel car park. At first Sam thought that maybe Dean had returned, however he quickly realized the sound was more akin to a motorbike than the Impala.

"What the hell do _you _want, Bitch?" Sam snarled at Ruby, as she hung her helmet on the handle bar of the Harley Davidson behind her.

"I'm here to help Dean." She quipped back with her usual haughtiness. "I might have an idea. To save him…"

"He's _gone_ already!" Sam snapped at her.

"And you have no idea where he's gone?" Ruby sighed as she ran the grave consequences through her mind. "You must have some idea!"

"No! If he'd have wanted us to know where he was going, he'd have invited us." Sam snapped at her. "He could be anywhere."

"No, no he's not." Ruby stated emphatically. "He would have left you a clue."

"Why?" Sam snapped at her. "When he obviously _doesn't_ want us to find him!"

"You telling me, he's gonna take off, to _die,_ and not make sure the Impala's taken care of?" Ruby queried haughtily. "Cause he took the car right?"

Sam's glance snapped to Bobby, and they glared at each other with renewed hope. She was right. Dean would never take the Impala without making sure she'd be found, once the deed was done.

"What is most important to him?" Ruby urged impatiently.

"Shit… _Sam_!" Bobby stated with enthusiasm. "You Sam, you're the most important thing to Dean… you and that bloody car!" Bobby explained as his mind began to turn. "She's right, he'd have left something and he'd make sure you would find it. It wouldn't be in his stuff, it'd be in yours, Sam!"

Sam ripped his cell from his pocket, hoping Dean had sent him a message, or left him a voice mail. But again there was nothing. Then Sam flipped his laptop open, a small light in the corner reminded Sam he had a scheduled meeting coming up. Sam eagerly brought up the appointments screen. Quickly a smile of desperate hope plastered across his face. "Damn him!" Sam sighed as he turned the screen around to show both Bobby and Ruby his findings.

Under the next day's date, Dean had left a solitary message: 'Lloyd's Bar'.

"You want to tell us what you have planned?" Bobby demanded of Ruby, still not persuaded to entirely trust her.

"The way I see it, Dean's only chance may be to draw out whoever owns his contract." Ruby informed them. "And kill their sorry ass!"

"I tried that already." Sam sighed. "Not as easy as you may think. I tried summoning the Crossroad demon, and she came and she pretty much told me she didn't… couldn't… She wasn't the one who held the contract." Sam snapped at her. "She wouldn't tell me who did."

"No, and from what I hear, she never will either…" Ruby glared accusingly at Sam, knowing that he'd killed her, and possibly exasperated Dean's situation rather than helping it. "But I kinda have an _insider's_ advantage in that area." Ruby pursed at him.

"You know who the Crossroads demon's boss is?" Bobby queried.

"Maybe, there are a few possibilities, but I have a fair idea." Ruby nodded. "Just how did you summon the Crossroad's wench?" She queried Sam.

"Umm… a photo… black cat bones and cemetery dirt." Sam admitted to Ruby.

"Ok… Then it could be Eshu or Legba, but my money's on Kalfu. But, in the end, it doesn't really matter." Ruby smiled with relief.

"Hoodoo deity?" Bobby frowned.

"Well yeah! Cat's bones and cemetery dirt… _Mississippi_… definitely Hoodoo…" Ruby smiled smugly.

"You really think this can work?" Sam questioned her.

She nodded. "Yeah… If we can stave off the hounds long enough… and any wenches he may send, then hopefully we'll piss him off enough he'll come himself to collect his prize: who ever he is! You know of any secluded places we can lure the demon and his minions to? Things will probably get messy, and a bunch of civilians caught in the cross fire will just complicate things."

"There's an old deserted town…" Bobby suggested tentatively. "Doctrine Springs, Arkansas. Supposed to be haunted... But definitely secluded, and not a civilian for 20 miles! Just the other side of the state line."

"Yeah, I know the place…" Ruby nodded as she exited their room. "The church will be a good start. I'll meet you there once I find Dean. Let me have the Colt." She demanded as she revved her bike and prepared to leave.

"What? You're kidding aren't you?" Bobby gruffed. "After all it took to get it back from Bela?"

"You want me to try and save Dean or not?" She snapped. "It's not like I can fend of a Hell Hound with my bare hands!"

"She has a point…" Sam muttered. When Bobby remained hesitant Sam reached out to Bobby. "I'll take it, then! I'm going with her! Dean's not gonna trust her, he never has…"

"Sam no…" Ruby interjected.

"If you want the Colt, then you'll have to take me with you!" Sam demanded.

"Fine. Come with me. But _only_ if you bring the Colt!" She demanded. "And stay outta my way!"

Sam checked that the Colt was loaded, and then shoved it down his own jeans waist band. Bobby handed him extra rounds of his specially cast and blessed silver bullets.

Sam leapt down the steps and mounted the motorbike behind her. "You'd best hold on… and put the other helmet on." She smirked at him. "And just so you know… _I'll_ be taking that Colt once we get there!"

oooOOOooo

_**Lloyd's Bar**_

_**Greenwood, MISSISSIPPI. **_

Dean had parked the Impala near Lloyd's Bar. The bar seemed deserted; there certainly weren't any cars about. However as Dean alighted the car he noticed a man sitting outside the bar, in the shadows of its verandah. He was rocking in a rocking chair, contently smoking a cigarette. The man was dressed in a black, pin striped suit with a tie; however, strangely, he didn't look out of place. The man was tall and muscular and when he smiled his teeth looked as white as snow against his dark chocolate skin. He leered intensely from beneath his fedora as he approached Dean.

"Ain't open, man." He commented, sucking back on his cigarette. "Not tonight."

"That's ok." Dean replied as he concealed his car keys behind the wheel rim, under the guise of checking his boot laces. "I was planning on taking a walk anyway."

Dean had every intention of walking a few miles down the road to await his fate, or somewhere off in the grass lands. He really didn't want Sam and Bobby finding his mauled remains. Once he was gone, he was gone; he didn't much care for a funeral.

He took his whiskey bottle in hand, and secreted a packet of peanut M&M's in his jacket pocket. Then he began his final walk, chucking back a mouthful of M&Ms followed by a huge gulp of whiskey.

After an hour Dean found himself a peaceful spot under a huge overhanging tree. It was late afternoon, and the sun was getting low on the horizon, but the tree gave him ample shade. He sat down at the base of the trunk. After taking in the landscape he opened the whiskey bottle and took a long gulp. Then he grasped a handful of M&M's and began munching contently away.

He could hear the Hell Hounds, lurking in the bushes that lined the roadside. He'd heard their unmistakable, low guttural growls, had for some time now, ever since the sun went down. And he was pretty sure he'd seen their glowing red eyes through the vegetation too. They were obviously waiting; biding their time until his was up…

oooOOOooo

Ruby and Sam arrived at Lloyd's Bar well into the night. The ride had been long and grueling. Every bone in Sam's body felt as if it had been shaken to almost snapping point.

When they finally pulled up outside Lloyd's Bar relief swept over Sam, when he spotted the Impala. Until they found Dean gone… again! Lloyd's Bar was closed, and no-one was in sight.

"Let's go." Ruby stated simply. "He can't have gone far."

Sam eventually nodded in acceptance. "I'll take the car." He stated. "You got any idea where he went?" He hoped she could tap into her demon senses and pull out an answer.

She squinted into the dark and scoured each of their four possibilities, at the crossroads. "That way." She eventually said confidently as she mounted her Harley. Sam peered down the road, but saw nothing but pitch black.

"You sure?" Sam queried, partially skeptical, partly awestruck.

"M&M's that way." She smirked confidently as she pointed down the road. She could see the two brightly colored spheres, one yellow, one red, lying in the center of the road, even if he couldn't.

Ruby tore off long before Sam had time to approach the Impala; he would have to haul ass or risk loosing her altogether.

"Damn you Ruby…" He sprinted to the car as fast as his long legs could carry him. He was relieved to find Dean had left the keys secreted behind the wheel rim of the driver's side, front fender, as he usually did. He gratefully ripped the Impala's door open and hurled himself inside.

oooOOOooo

Dean heard a deep muffled humming. It wasn't long before he saw a solitary light well off in the distance. It was completely dark, and the road was completely cloaked in darkness. The full moon was his only amnesty to the all-consuming shadows.

The motor bike came from Lloyd's and it was the first vehicle to come his way all day. It was difficult not to fear that it had something to do with him. It was almost midnight; execution time Dean figured. So it was a little concerning that even if it was just an innocent passer-by, they could be in real danger if the Hounds decided to make an appearance.

Dean stood up, intent on hiding himself from the intruder, and moved into the concealing shadows of the tree.

Dean watched as the obviously female rider kept the bike from spilling her halfway across the road. As far as he was concerned she controlled the weight of the Harley far too well for her slight frame and immediately he became suspicious.

"Ruby? What, the hell?" Dean began to snap at her angrily as he stepped towards her.

"Dean." She grinned at him.

His advance halted within a couple of steps and then he staggered backwards as her face stretched and faded to pale grey and her eyes blackened to hollow cavities. His fears and suspicions escalated. "_You've_ come for me?" Dean snarled at her as he cocked his gun and aimed it at her. "I shoulda known you had some kind of ulterior motive! You've been stringing us along all this time!"

"Dean I didn't come to…" She began to explain.

"What the hell are you?" Dean demanded as her features grew more evil in appearance. "I can see your true form now. Stay away from me!"

"I haven't come to kill you." She chided, remaining perched on her bike, her hands held up in surrender. "I'm here to try and _save_ you."

Dean was stunned when the Impala eventually pulled up in front of him.

"Sam?" Dean queried with genuine bewilderment. "What the hell? How… what are you doing here?"

"We're here to try and help you." Sam replied. "And besides, don't you think _I'd want_ to be here… for you."

As Dean gazed at Sam's perplexed expression his pistol suddenly snapped towards his brother instead of Ruby, as the younger Winchester's face melted and distorted just as hers had. Sam's face contorted until his features twisted into something that looked like Death itself. "What the hell are you?" He demanded again, suddenly suspecting Sam and Ruby were both demons. He raised the colt and aimed at Sam's perverted face, hesitantly ready to shoot.

"Dean, NO!" Ruby intervened as she realized what had suddenly freaked the elder Winchester out. "What you're seeing, they're just hallucinations, it's the Hounds, they're doing it to you. It's really Sam… you have to trust me on that."

"Dean, NO!" Sam pleaded, alarmingly more nervous. Dean drunk and scared was never a good combination. "She's right, remember Evan Hudson? He had the same visions… remember… please?" Sam urged, hoping Dean would recall some of the finer details of the hunt.

Dean shook his head clear of the apparition. And Sam and Ruby returned to normal. He kind of recalled something about visions of death accompanying the Hell Hounds. "Visions?"

"Hallucinations remember?" Sam pleaded.

"Sam, is it really you?" Dean queried nervously, everything about him seemed to spin and sway unnaturally.

"Yeah, it's me… Sam" He reassured his ailing brother.

"Just… hallucinations?" Dean muttered.

"Look… There might still be a way." Ruby interrupted, impatiently maneuvering her bike around to Dean's side. "To save you."

"I think you're a bit late." Dean snarled at her.

"No, we're not. Not as long as you're still breathing! Let's go! Get on!" She urged him with haste, putting her helmet back on, and pushing the visor back to speak. "Sam, get in the car!"

"No!" Dean objected resolutely. "I can't… I can't welch on this, you know that! Sammy…"

"I didn't think the Crossroad Bitch had said anything about not trying to run!" She retorted anxiously. "As far as I know you don't have to make this easy for them."

Dean shook his head with skepticism. "Seriously, how long do you think I can run for?"

"As long as it takes…" Ruby frowned impatiently. "Sam you wanna call Bobby for me?"

Sam pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed, and then he passed the phone over to Ruby. It must have been answered almost immediately.

"Bobby?... No Ruby… Are you ready?..." She queried. "Yeah, we've got him." She replied anxiously. "Yeah… A few hours." She answered another garbled query. "Yeah, Ok… Good."

She pocketed the phone as she revved the bike impatiently.

As they tore away, the bushes by the roadside exploded in a flurry of leaves and branches as the Hell Hounds broke through the shrubbery. Although Sam was oblivious to their appearance, they raced past the Impala in long bounding strides, hot on the trail of Ruby and Dean on the Harley. The hounds were intent on stopping their fugitive.

They seemed to have made a clean break, leaving the hounds in their wake, until suddenly Dean grunted, and his grip around Ruby's waist tugged at her. Then abruptly he was yanked from behind her. She fishtailed slightly on the thick gravel as she banked a corner. Then the world tumbled ass over in front of her. She was unexpectedly airborne, and the bike left her grasp with an abrupt jerk. The sounds of metal twisting and screeching, and screams of agony filled her ears as she somersaulted across the road and down a grassy embankment. She yanked her helmet off with ease, as she leapt up the low grassy bank and back onto the road she paused in horror.

The Hounds had caught their prey and their huge fanged jaws tore into their struggling victim's flesh. Ruby winced in horror. Dean was pinned helplessly to the ground, just meters from the mangled wreck of her bike. One huge, black brute ripped at his thigh, another tore at his left shoulder whilst he tried desperately to fend the beasts off. The third mauled his right forearm, its crushing gnaw tearing through both flesh and bone in its savagery. Their fangs ripped through his soft tissue like a surgeon's scalpel.

Sam slammed the Impala to a screeching halt, mere feet from Dean's writhing body. He sprang from the Impala before the car had even come to a complete stop and gasped with horror as he saw as both Dean's clothes and flesh ripped apart, and blood swiftly gushed from the open wounds. The elder Winchester thrashed around with his invisible attackers, and although muffled by the helmet, shrieks of agony were torn from his screaming lips.

Sam fumbled for the Colt, not knowing where to shoot until Ruby ripped the pistol free from his grasp and blasted a shot into the Hound closest. Its grasp upon Dean's shoulder abated and the creature howled in pain and convulsed into death at his side.

With their momentary pause Dean was able to rip his colt from his waistband. He snapped the pistol up, and with a pain-trembling hand he blasted at the closest hound. The beast reeled around from the sheer force of the shot. It swiftly limped back to its feet and then sprang back towards him with savage determination. Ruby shot at it, as it leapt into the air, with its gaping maw lunging at Dean. It was halted mid leap by the blast, its carcass skidding to the ground by Dean's side as its final breath was forced from its lungs by the impact. She spun around swiftly and plugged another shot into the third's chest. The Hound cart wheeled away from Dean's writhing silhouette and came to a gory halt several feet from the maimed hunter, all signs of life extinguished.

As the landscape stilled and silence enveloped them Ruby trembled with fear. An iciness had descended upon them, and the sky grew eerily dark as clouds passed across the moon. She spun around cautiously, awaiting another onslaught. Every fiber of her being screamed at her that something else lay in wait for them, for Dean.

"Something else is here, and close by!" She informed them with dour gravity, her demonic eyes scanned the countryside, looking for what every nerve in her body told her was there. "We gotta go, NOW!"

"What?" Sam dared to ask. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure, but it's big and it's bad!" She snapped back.

oooOOOooo

As the Impala sped off, a tall dark man revealed himself from the nearby bushes. He strode to the center of the road where his hounds lay massacred. He had others with him, huge black beasts that whimpered at their pack-members' demise. They sniffed at the fresh pools of human blood and a deadly blood-lust swelled in their fiery red eyes. He indicated to another Hound to pursue his fleeing fugitive.

As he disappeared back into the shadows, the carcasses of the executed hounds slowly vanished in a thick black cloud of smoke.

oooOOOooo

Ruby studied the brothers as she drove. Who'd have though the Winchester name was actually feared in the Underworld? Before having met either she'd even imagined them to be some kind of super human, family force. Invincible even! Only goes to show you can't believe everything you read!

They looked pretty pathetic right now; one dying and the other turning into a sappy marshmallow!

She had observed the Winchester brothers for months now, twelve to be exact. And she had to admit sometimes she wondered if she hadn't put her money on the wrong horse. Sam was supposed to have been the next big thing, the Grand Po-bah, the new leader who would reign over the Legions of Hell. As far as a demonic messiah was concerned he hardly fit the bill!

And little did they know, the Winchesters had unwittingly started a turn of events of monumental proportions.

Events that began with Sam's resurrection. Ruby chuckled a little to herself, Dean had no idea just what price he'd paid to have his brother returned to him. Sam's resurrection had had a powerful impact on the Underworld; there were both celebrations and commiserations. Not to mention the celebrations of those that could finally seek their vengeance on the hunter who had condemned them to Hell and would now soon to join them.

There were many demons who rejoiced that Dean had brought Sam back. Dean had done the Underworld a favor by resurrecting their demonic messiah. He'd brought Sam back for a destiny big brother may not be altogether pleased about. And he'd brought him back even stronger than he'd been before, because the Crossroad Demon had brought Sam back… a little off. Unbeknownst to his big brother guardian, Sam had been stripped of huge slabs of compassion and humanity; almost all his inhibitions had been obliterated. He'd been tweaked towards a more demonic destiny.

Then Dean had executed Azazel, one of the few who could keep the legions of demons in line. The race was on, for a new leader, and there were many powerful contenders in the ring. But ultimately only one could succeed, and there would be a blood bath before that one could rise.

Ruby realized if she was going to back Sam, she had to first save Dean.

oooOOOooo

_**St. Dominic's Church**_

_**Dominion Springs. ARKANSAS.**_

They drove almost three hours before Ruby pulled off the main highway and zigzagged through the forested hills for another half hour, until she reached the abandoned mining town. As she drove through the church gates, Ruby involuntarily shivered. She squeezed her eyes shut, as an instant wave of nausea swept over her, and steadfastly remained. She wondered just why she was doing this…

Dominion Springs' house of worship was still in reasonably good repair, although a decent section of the roof, above the altar, had collapsed with age and white ants. The high-set, stained glass windows were all intact, bar one by the double entry doors. Inside most of the pews had been removed, all except those that had been fixed to the walls at the very rear of the church. Also removed were the pulpit and all other furniture. The cathedral-style, high wall at the rear of the church bore a shadowed outline of where a huge crucifix had once held pride of place. Similar ghostly silhouettes lined the walls where numerous pictures had once hung. All that remained of anything holy were the stained glass windows, depicting the life of Jesus Christ, two solitary angelic statues, one of which lay in pieces across the floor, the other had been decapitated, and a huge marble baptismal font off to one corner, most likely too heavy, or cumbersome to move. Bobby had filled it to the brim with water that he had subsequently blessed. All the windows and doors had a thick line of goofer dust and, for good measure, salt, layed across them. In the center of the church Bobby had laid out a large circle of the same. He'd also painted a devil's trap in front of the doors, and numerous symbols, some of which Sam didn't even recognize, in various places across the floor, along the walls and even on the door. In some places, along the window ledges, and in the corners he'd carefully placed small leather pouches; mojo bags most likely. In demonic terms, it was like Fort Knox!

As Bobby and Sam hoisted Dean's lethargic body into the church Ruby remained by the door, Colt in hand as she scanned the surrounding woods for any signs of more Hell Hounds or worse... They carried him into the center of the circle where the hunters laid Dean down. Blood loss and exhaustion had rendered him temporarily unconscious.

"We'd best see to those wounds…" Bobby muttered, pulling his first aid kit closer. "But we gotta keep him warm." Bobby moved off to retrieve a blanket from his pickup, which, given Dean's state, hardly seemed adequate.

Bobby paused by Ruby's side as he exited the church. "Listen… Thanks. I'm still not sure any of this is gonna work… But thanks for trying…" Bobby's voice trailed off with mounting emotion. "… To help Dean."

She gazed solemnly at Bobby for a moment then offered him the Colt. "You wanted this back…"

Bobby was surprised by her gesture. "No. You'd best keep it; at least you can see the bastard mongrels."

If only he knew… she hadn't done it for Dean.

Bobby tended to Dean's wounds. Much of the bleeding had ceased, except for a small number of profound lacerations across his thigh. Bobby set about swiftly bandaging a thick gauze pad over the wounds, applying, he hoped, enough pressure to stem the flow of blood. As he bandaged Dean's leg Sam proceeded to cut away the tattered garb of his t-shirt and jacket, across his shoulder, to reveal further blood covered gore and carnage. Dean hissed with pain, as Sam's trembling hands examined the damage.

Had it not been for his helmet, the Hound would most certainly have ripped Dean's throat out. As it was, the hound's huge jaws had mauled deep puncture wounds and long gashes into Dean's shoulder and upper arm, extending to across his clavicle to his upper chest. Sam could see clear to the bone, to where his fractured collar bone protruded through the mangled flesh. The sight had him gag with horror and fear. The wounds were extensive, far worse than he'd tried to convince himself of.

Ruby sat in silent contemplation of the trio. "Looks pretty bad to me." She remarked. "I could always… you know… possess him." She pondered. "I could keep him alive, at least until all this is dealt with."

"Like hell!" Dean objected, having heard her, casting her a defiant, but beaten, glare. "I ain't gonna have a demon chick in me! Not after what had happened to Sam…"

"Wouldn't work anyway." Sam replied, wishing he could have avoided Meg's unwanted violation of his body. "We got tattooed with protection charms… neither of us can be possessed."

"That charm you're so smug about, the hounds tore it up pretty bad. He can still be possessed!" Ruby declared haughtily.

"What?" Sam daunted. He lifted the gauze to inspect the tattoo, and sure enough the lacerations at the hound's fangs had ripped the image apart. It couldn't possibly offer any kind of protection; probably never heal well enough to ever do so again.

Dean suddenly flinched; his eyes snapping wide open in fear. He gasped as his gaze bounced around the church, searching, trying desperately to find the source of his terror. He tried to push away from Sam, as his stare fixed upon the doors.

"Sam you gotta run… They're back… they're here…" Dean warned them.

"Its ok, we got it covered… you're safe here." Bobby consoled.

"It's the Hounds. They're here." Ruby called to them from her vantage point on one of the remaining pews at the rear of the church, where she could peer through the stained glass window through a broken pane. She loaded more shells into the Colt, although her eyes remained fixed on the black hounds that charged towards them outside.

"Can you hold them off?" Bobby queried her. There was no point defending a dead man, and if they couldn't stabilize Dean's condition that was all he effectively was.

"Yeah…" She fired several shots into the night and smiled smugly to herself as two hounds bit the dust. Another two raced towards the church, but as they bound through the church gates they slowed noticeably, and grew instantly nervous. As they leapt up the church steps they came to a skidding halt at the doors where they recoiled in fear and scampered away. They weren't about to be easily persuaded into venturing anywhere onto holy ground. Instead they retreated to the perimeter where they ran in tandem, back and forth, at the church gates. They were obviously anxious to complete their task, but weary of venturing onto consecrated soil.

Ruby knew their pain. Hallowed ground made her nauseous at best, and even that sensation had quickly developed into something far worse. She could feel as her energy drained and her blood seemed to boil in her veins. Stabs of pain hacked at her head and her insides, like she had been stuffed with razor blades.

"I sure, as hell, hope this doesn't constitute welching!" Bobby mused. "Running from the damned things is one thing, killing them, well that a whole different kettle of fish!"

"Well I'm not dead yet." Sam replied, optimistically, "…and I think quite a few of the Hell Hounds are." He glanced at Ruby for confirmation of the fact.

"Technically Dean hasn't actually killed any of them, so he couldn't be accused of trying to welch." Ruby added to their discussion. "Ain't nobody said I can't kill the filthy, flea-ridden mutts!"

"Suppose that's something." Bobby sighed.

Ruby was shooting at something again, in quick succession.

Bobby strode to her. "How many?"

"Now? About a five." She replied, obviously taking aim at another. "They're getting braver," she added, "coming right up to the doors."

"Well, that can't be good." Bobby muttered.

Almost as if to punctuate his dread, a hound managed to avert Ruby's shot and pounced upon the door. Bobby scampered back to the doors and checked that the age-old latch would hold. He could feel their immense weight as they pounced against the bolt. The force was enough to nearly knock him to the ground.

And then the pouncing stopped. Bobby checked the door once more, insuring they remained firmly latched, and double checked his lines of defense.

"What's going on?" Bobby queried her.

"I don't know, they just pulled back." Ruby replied.

Bobby was startled when the doors rattled again, almost pushed off their hinges.

"Ruby, what is it?" Bobby demanded. It was a constant pushing, rather than indicative of the hounds pouncing against it. "What the hell?" Bobby frowned as he considered the possible explanations. "Ruby?"

"Not the Hounds." She replied, there was nothing outside as far as she could see. Then, as the doors rattled again, she realized, as the icy wind forced its way through the broken glass and swept at her, blowing her hair from her face. The hounds had limited control over the forces. She reloaded in anticipation of another attack. "They're trying to blow the doors in!"

"Bobby its wind…" Sam tried to warn of the elemental control the Hounds seemed to have when, with an all mighty bang, the doors were flung open. Instantaneously there was an explosion of splintered timber as the crude wooden latch shattered and a gust of rustling leaves burst through the doorway as the doors were finally blown off their hinges. They were sent flying into the church, the noise of the discharge echoing throughout and then swamped by the deafening howl of the ensuing wind.

One of the doors slammed into Bobby, knocking him to the ground, and burying him beneath.

"Bobby!" Sam cried as he eased Dean from his lap and sprang to Bobby's aid.

"No Sam!" Ruby cautioned as she leapt from the pew and sprinted towards Bobby. "Get back, I'll get him. Stay in the circle!"

Sam paused, as he considered his options. However Ruby was already by Bobby's side, hoisting him to his feet and half dragging him back to the circle. Blood streamed down the side of his face and he was visibly dazed and confused. Unable to step over herself, she had to pass Bobby to Sam. However the salt and goofer dust lines were broken by Bobby's stumbling feet and Ruby was unable to fix it…

With another gust of wind the fragile lines of salt and goofer dust were blown from the door's threshold and Ruby gasped in angst as three huge hounds leapt through the entrance, skirting the devil's trap as if it were a snake pit. She glanced at the fractured lines of restraint that circled the hunters, with trepidation.

"Sam, the line!" Ruby yelled as she ran forward towards the hounds, firing at the first demonic canine bounding towards them. Sam struggled with Bobby's lumbering weight, easing him down by Dean's side in haste. He had no idea just where the hounds were, or how many, however he could see by Ruby's panicked expression that their circumstances were dire.

Their only hope was for Ruby to eliminate the hounds as they leapt through the doors. She shot at the next hound, as another two forced their way into the church. It would appear consecrated ground was loosing its inhibiting effects upon the hell hounds. As she spun around, to face one of the charging creatures she was thrust to the ground by another.

Sam watched in horror as she was pinned helplessly to the ground, gashes appeared along her arm, from her invisible attacker. Ruby cried out, in her weakened state the pain was enough to hurt even the demon within. Sam was at a loss as to how he could help her; not when he couldn't even see the hounds!

Desperately Ruby thrust the Colt up and blasted the beast that pinned her down, clean in the chest. Her aim swiftly moved and she fired again, somewhere off to her right. They attacked on mass, coming at her from all sides. She spun around as she expertly fired a compilation of shots at the huge black beasts, until the Colt's ammunition was expelled and the floor around her was littered with the carcasses of Hell's canines.

Although Sam was still oblivious to the Hell Hounds' presence, he could see the disruption to the thick dusty coating over the floor where they had pounced, clawed and finally fallen.

Before Ruby could make it to her feet Bobby's torch faulted and began to flicker and, if it weren't for the moonlight streaming in through the gapping hole in the roof, they would have been thrust into complete darkness.

"Oh Shit!" Bobby complained as his torch extinguished altogether. It wasn't so much that they would be without light that concerned him; it was more so _why_ the torch had begun to fail in the first place.

Then, as the winds intensified again, swirling dead leaves and dust into eddying mini-tornadoes, a woman and a man, both tall and athletic, stepped cautiously through the doorway, passing through the break in the salt and goofer lines. They meandered around the devil's trap and glared at the battle-weary hunters. However the woman's gaze fixed solely on Ruby and hatred flooded her expression.

"Ruby! I should have known!" The redheaded woman hissed at Ruby as she stepped over the lifeless carcass of a hell hound. "We'd heard you were playing for the other side!"

"So... it's time for the wenches!" Ruby snarked. "Hounds down, Big Bad still to come?" Ruby staggered to her feet; the fight and the church having taken a significant toll on her strength and energy. However, she placed herself between both hunters and the demons. Neither hunter could get a clean shot at the demons without risking hitting Ruby as well.

The redhead strode directly up to Ruby and hurled a fist into her abdomen. Ruby, still weary and ailing, crumpled with the blow and the woman proceeded to plant her boot into her. Ruby was sent sprawling across the floor. "You obviously sided with the _wrong_ side!" The redhead sniggered with triumph.

The brute of a man advanced, his muscular, exposed arms covered in heavy black tribal tattoos. He strode forward with imposing menace, towards Ruby, lethal thoughts clear on his face. Ruby remained prone on the floor, as she struggled to summon the will to battle on.

"Ruby!" Sam called to her as he fired upon the man, pelting him to the ground with rock salt, where he landed with a loud thump by the woman's side.

"Ruby!" Sam yelled again. "Ruby! Get up!"

"Battle's not over yet, Brenna!" Ruby snapped back, with confident triumph, as she huddled on the floor, concealing the Colt from their view as she desperately forced another bullet into the chamber. She staggered to her feet and stood tall, boldly prepared for a fight. "I got a little surprise for you…" She commented, as she swiftly fired at Brenna's dark haired companion as he struggled back to his feet.

The shot hit Brenna's tattooed cohort, clean in the chest, and he staggered backwards with bewilderment. As Ruby shifted her aim towards Brenna, the demon swiftly cast her hand up in a swiping motion and hurled Ruby into the church wall by will alone.

"Ignatius!" Brenna bawled in horror, as the blessed silver bullet worked its mystical toxic magic on the demon. "No, no, NO! You bitch, you'll pay for that!" She screamed at Ruby. Iridescent veins glowed across Ignatius's face and neck and he convulsed where he stood, until he stood no longer. He crashed to the floor as his eyes blacked over, momentarily, and then all signs of life ceased.

Bobby fired at Brenna, hoping to keep her incapacitated until Ruby could get herself back on her feet. The demoness staggered backwards with the impact, screaming in pain. When Bobby and Sam both fired again she was prepared. Her hand flew up and deflected the shot with a whistling howl of wind. She glared at the hunters with anger. The redhead screamed like a banshee, then thrust her hands forward. There was a sudden crashing sound as she blasted the stained glass windows from their frames, showering them all with a blizzard of rainbow colored, glass shards.

With her short triumph Ruby grappled to reload the Colt. However, her task was incomplete, interrupted as she was jerked from her feet and tossed to the opposite side of the church, and slammed into the baptismal font. The solid structure remained fast. Not a drop of holy water spilled upon her, however the rib-jarring jolt had incapacitated the demoness. She remained stunned and splayed on the ground.

Brenna strode swiftly towards her, pulling a dagger from her boot. Sam feared it was a dagger, just like Ruby's; a demon slaying dagger! Ruby's swift and gory, fatal demise seemed inevitable.

"Ruby!" Sam shouted again, as he leapt to her aid. He fired at the woman with rock salt, and caught her by surprise, too engrossed in executing Ruby to notice him, or care. As Brenna was pummeled backwards by the blast he tackled the redhead to the ground. With the demoness dazed, he scooped a large handful of the holy water from the baptismal font and splashed it over her.

"Kill her!" Sam demanded of Ruby as she staggered to her feet.

Ruby glanced back in defeat. "It's empty!" She exclaimed as she held the Colt up.

Recovering quickly, Brenna spun around and vaulted Sam across the altar floor and sent him crashing into the wall behind and then sent Ruby tumbling across the floor to his side. Ruby pulled herself up, and attempted to reload the Colt with as many bullets as she could.

Bobby managed a rushed shot at the demoness, however the blast was blown off track by a huge wind gust. The inhabitants of the church were all nearly blown to the ground as gale force winds swept through the church doors, eradicating what was left of the hunters' feeble salt lines at the threshold. The splintered shards of window and fractured slivers of roof thatching were swept up and blown to the rear of the church in a blustery gust of dust and glittering glass. Bobby's inner sanctum of goofer dust and salt was reduced to a bare minimum.

"Stop!" A deep gravelly voice boomed into the church. A hurricane of winds followed and nearly blew the thatched roof completely off the small church. And as intent as Ruby was on killing Brenna the sheer ferocity of the voice startled her into submission. Sam, Bobby and Ruby were all intimidated by the dark, imposing figure that stood in the doorway, with a posse of Hell Hounds by his side. Hounds that all, alarmingly, could see; Bobby feared they were all now at risk of the hounds, as only demons and those on their hit list could see them!

As the figure stepped forward several boards were ripped loudly from the floor by invisible means, annihilating the devil's trap drawn upon them. The tall, dark man entered the church, unencumbered by any of Bobby's precautions. Brenna retreated to join him by his side. He gave her a fleeting glance of disappointment as she crept behind him.

Bobby aimed his shot gun at the demon. Ruby did the same with the Colt, having only managed to load a few bullets into the pistol.

Somehow they all knew: This was '_the'_ Crossroad Demon. The one who held possession over Dean's soul.

He was as intimidating as he was ruthless. Tall enough to rival Sam in height, black as the proverbial ace of spades and built like a quarterback. He enjoyed the terror he could instill with a simple glare and a grin that was evilly maniacal. His eyes flickered like smoldering embers from beneath the brim of his hat and as he raised his hand the elements at his disposal leapt to attention. Instantly the winds resumed their bluster, slowly at first but noticeable gaining with momentum. He relished the stunned fear reflected in all their faces. Even his own feared him and Brenna cowered by his side, fearful of the unavoidable wrath she would face for her failure.

Dean stirred. He blinked groggily at the demon, as he forced himself up onto his elbow. "Lloyd's…" Dean muttered softly. "You were at Lloyd's."

The Demon simply grinned at having been recognized.

Bobby fired his rock salt filled shotgun at the Crossroad Demon. However the Demon simply waved his hand and the salt was sent shooting off in all directions bar towards him. The distraction opened up a brief window of opportunity that lasted but a split second, but was seized upon in half that time. The ensuing diversion allowed Ruby to fire the Colt at the Demon, almost instantaneously. The Demon arched back, deflecting the shot. He spun around angrily as he ducked her deadly aim. The bullet, aimed at where he should have had a heart, glanced instead off his shoulder and slammed straight into Brenna's skull, right between the eyes. The demoness had no warning, or inkling at what had happened. She convulsed and shuddered as her body hit the ground and veins of lightning streaked across her face. Eventually her body stilled and a single drop of deep red blood trickled from the hole in her skull. Her startled blue eyes gawped with shock, glaring lifeless into the shadows of the church.

The dark figure staggered backwards with dismay and awe. Rage and wrath boiled within him and as he recomposed himself he howled in anger and with, what Sam construed, was a hint of trepidation... The Colt had wounded him. Thick, almost black, blood oozed from the wound to his shoulder and splattered on the floor, hissing and bubbling as it hit the consecrated floorboards. His face snarled and grimaced as he momentarily glared at the hunters with dismay. If for only a moment, he was obviously worried. Sam suspected Ruby's plan may just have some solid merit.

If they could just get another shot in, they could kill him, however Ruby had only just had time to load another bullet...

With a low and ear shattering bellow that reverberated to their very bones, the Demon angrily swept Ruby off her feet and slammed her into the back wall with a simple flick of his wrist. She hit hard enough to smash the plasterboard, and probably shattered several bones. The Colt was sent flying from her grasp.

Bobby fired at the Demon again, only to have the blast avoided; Kalfu barely raised an eyebrow as the rock salt rebounded away.

"I'd be thinkin' about doin' that ag'in!" Kalfu snapped at Bobby. "I've come for what's due me, an tha like ov you ain't gonna stop me! Which o' you boys's ready ta die?" Kalfu waved at his hounds and they stalked to the goofer dust's edge, glaring at the hunters in their faltering sanctuary.

"Well technically Dean hasn't _welched_." Ruby shot back with equal assurance. "So you can stop counting your chickens before they renege! Sam's not yours, and never will be!"

Sam took it upon himself to try and stop the Demon once more. Ruby was hurting, Dean was dying, the Colt was out of reach, and another gust of wind would obliterate their tentative circle of protection altogether. He had to do something.

Sam blasted his shot gun at Kalfu twice, in quick succession. Kalfu laughed with supremacy as another flick of the wrist returned the rock salt back at the hunters with equal force, without ever coming close to reaching him. The ricocheting shots were sent back directly at the hunters. The force of the salt blasted Bobby side on, slamming him to the ground and winding him. As Sam turned to lunge over Dean, in a futile attempt to protect his brother, the force of the shot caught him square in the chest like a sledge hammer and he was slammed to the ground, temporarily knocked unconsciousness. Dean hissed with agony, when unable to protect himself, he was subjected to the salt's scathing attack as it ripped into his already battered body.

Kalfu snarled angrily. "This," he swept his hand over Dean's prone body, slumped by Sam's unconscious side, "this looks to me like he's tryin' to weasel hisself outta his deal!"

"Technically, no he's not." Ruby rebuked defiantly. Her confident rebuttals empowered her. She relished that she could wield such power over the likes of a demon such as Kalfu. "Your dogs worked him over pretty good. We put him there, he had no idea what was going on. He was unconscious and therefore unable to make his own decisions, ergo, not welching!" Ruby smirked with self-assurance.

"Hmmm…. Playin' the words now? Bit of advocating is it?" He demanded; trepidation glimmered in his expression again. "And my pets?" Kalfu frowned as he examined the carnage of his Hell Hounds, collapsed around him on the floor.He glared at her with a defiant challenge in his fiery eyes as his hand also motioned towards Brenna and Ignatius. "And slaying my poor emissaries… Ain't that welchin'?"

"He hasn't killed a one_._" Ruby hissed back at him with a condescending smirk, almost with a death wish of her own. "_I did, every last one of them_! Every stinkin', flea bitten, mongrel, but, the one I savor the most is your trashy, little whore-wench Brenna! Can't condemn him for my actions, can you Kalfu? I mean your word is your bond, isn't it?" Ruby knew it wasn't just Dean's life she was fighting for; it was both of the Winchesters.

"True, _I _stands by my contract, Ima wondrin' if he'll be standin' by his?" Kalfu frowned, his irritation welling as he slammed her back into the wall. "I think you're a fightin' for naught. With all tha' blood he's a loosin', looks ta me likes he's a dead man alreadys."

"Maybe…" Ruby gulped nervously as she sucked in a lungful of confidence, tentatively hedging towards the Colt. She'd unbalanced him, she realized, and now he was quickly trying to make up lost ground. "But if that were the case, then why are _you_ here?" She demanded boldly. "Are you maybe just a little worried that if your dogs don't drag him down into the depths of Hell themselves you'll miss out on his soul?" Ruby glared at him, relishing her tentative advantage. "Cause you've no grounds to take Sam!"

Kalfu seemed to be enjoying the challenge of claiming Dean's soul, and far too nonchalantly. He sat on a nearby pew and casually lit himself a cigarette. He had everything under complete control, and now he was simply toying with them until the inevitable came…

"But then, Samuel has always been meant for much, much bigga things. Haven't you _Samuel_?" Kalfu continued, having grasped their attentions hook, line and sinker.

Sam glared back at Kalfu, having regained consciousness, intrigued the demon's his new approach.

"Dean's long outliveds his time as protector; you's so much stronga 'an he is now." Kalfu declared. "He was a jus' a passin' interruption, tills ya reached your full potential. Now all he's is, is ya one last blemish. Ya last, useless shred o' mankin', a mere shado' ofs ya humanity! An' tha ones thin' holdin' ya back. Dean ainst ya protector no more, Samuel, he's ya jailer! You shoulds just… _let_… _me_… '_ave him_, so yous can gets on with 'filling ya true destiny."

"Dean is my destiny!" Sam snapped back defensively.

Kalfu laughed again. "Well then, it'll be a shorts one! But I doubts it, Samuel. Not for'n the likes of _your_ kind!" He charged. "I find it 'musing that ya grasp so dearly at whats little humanity ya is so u'fortunately tainted with. Once Dean is gone ya wills swiftly feel as'n the burden of ya human weakness are burned away. It'll leaves ya pure an' powerful."

"And just what is my kind?" Sam demanded apprehensively.

Kalfu was greatly pleased at the new found clout his knowledge gave him. He paused purposefully as he relished his cigarette, no more than a small stub. As the demon inhaled, the stub glowed like the smoldering embers in his eyes. He was calculating just how much he should reveal, and the sweet taste of the taunt was invigorating.

In the dark corner of the church, with Kalfu temporarily distracted by his banter with Sam, Ruby cautiously hedged her way towards the Colt, still lying some feet away from her.

"No, Samuel." Kalfu eventually retorted. "If Mommy never done told you… oh that's right, Azazel kinda killed her, didn't he, before she ever could…" Kalfu laughed with sinister glee. "I'm guessin' Azazel wanted ya, and all ya kind, all to hisself. Guess he didn't quite count on Daddy Winchester gettin' all agitated an' turnin' hunter on him. And Dean here, damned if your Daddy didn't create hisself one _hell_ of a fightin' machine; Azazel sure didn't see th'un comin'! But not for much longer though… Even John didn't knows ya power, did he Samuel? Poo' confused Dean here, didn't stands a chance! I'm bettin', Samuel, ya darned fool brother is so committed to ya he'd sell his soul a dozen times ova if'n he hadta. That's _your_ doin' Samuel, that's ya 'nfluence on him. Ya power! You gots him so wound up in ya, he can't stomach to breathe withouts ya! You used him Samuel, and ya didn't even knows it! That's what ya power can do, has its own agenda its does!"

"Just shut up!" Sam snapped at him angrily, clutching at his shotgun with forced restraint, his finger teasing the trigger. "You don't know squat about us!"

"I'm guessing I know a _hell_ of a lots more 'an you do _Samuel_." Kalfu taunted.

Sam fired at him angrily. Kalfu deflected the rock salt blast without even raising an eyebrow. He barely raised his hand, simply waved his finger slightly and the winds returned, blowing the salt from its path. He laughed with amusement.

"I know you're not getting my brother's soul!" Sam snapped back at Kalfu desperately, firing again.

Kalfu deflected the blast with almost monotonous ease. "I gets what's due me, Boy! An' payment's long ova due!" Kalfu snarled, irritated by Sam's defiance. "It's time for what's owed to me!"

Bobby also blasted at Kalfu with rock salt, fear and trepidation was mounting within him. He was growing increasingly nervous. Kalfu glared at him with growing irritation as he deflected the shot once more.

With his concentration upon the hunters, Ruby lunged at the Colt; however Kalfu ceased her last bid attempt at retrieving the pistol by hurling her at the feet of his hounds. They set upon her, drowning her in a savage sea of black, as the Colt skidded across the floor, far out of Sam's reach from within their circle of protection.

Ruby fought her way to her feet, and in a desperate attempt to save herself she lunged towards the doors, the hounds at her heels. Kalfu's pets had no reservations in savaging the demoness and she was sent sprawling through the doorway.

"Enough! I'm tirin' o' these games!" Kalfu snorted. "Ya childish 'tempts to keep me from takin' what's mine ain't gonna work!" Kalfu raised his hands to waist height, fingers spread wide. Then he lowered his head and glared at the hunters through vehement eyes, glazed over like the fires of Hell.

What began as a gust of wind, escalated to a tempest. As the winds intensified and howled through the church, glass, timber splinters and dust pelted them relentlessly until Bobby's carefully laid circle was all but swept away in the turbulent gusts of wind. The hounds stalked forward eagerly…

"Your wasted 'tempts to stop me claimin' my contract's damned stupid. You cann' stop me. Did ya really thinks ya could stop me wiv all dis hocus-pocus?" Kalfu waved his hand again and more of their protective circle eroded with the ensuing wind.

Then Kalfu turned his attentions solely on Bobby and Sam. The winds intensified, and with their circle broken both hunters found themselves at Kalfu's mercy. His hands snapped to either side and he laughed with victory. He tossed them in different directions, smashing them into opposite walls of the church and pinning them there with nothing more than an upturned hand.

Dean lay crumpled on the floor in what remained of Bobby's goofer dust circle. It was most certainly breached in more places than one. In his weakened, groggy state, Dean didn't stand a chance. Although, the hounds didn't advance.

"I guess you just gotta decide, Dean. Who's walkin' outta here? I wills be collectin' on my contract, or penalize ya for lack of payment!" Kalfu demanded. "Who's shall it be, Dean? It's ya decision. With whose life will you make payment? Yours or Samuel's?" To validate his point, Kalfu clenched the fist that he held in Sam's direction. Sam began to gag and gasp for strangled breath, his hands grappling with unseen hands about his throat.

Kalfu wanted to make a final point to all concerned. He would take what was owed to him, and he'd make the notorious, defiant Dean Winchester _beg_ him to take him. He'd break him before he ripped his soul out…

Dean pulled himself up onto his knees. And as Sam and Bobby gazed in horror, from where they were pinned to the wall, Dean staggered to his feet. With painful effort he forced his lacerated leg to hold his weight, and he hobbled forward, with precise, determined steps. Fresh blood oozed through his bandages, and every footfall elicited a grimace of pain. He clutched his arms tightly against his chest, easing the pain from his shoulder, the other from his forearm. He staggered perilously, barely keeping himself upright, however he pushed himself to continue, until he stepped over and out of the goofer dust circle. Weary and lethargic, Dean teetered and swayed precariously, however he forced himself to stand proud, mere meters from Kalfu.

"Now…" Kalfu demanded. The sheer taunting was worth the wait for this soul. "Till's me who?"

Dean gulped back nervously, glancing at Sam's struggling form, pinned to the wall by invisible means. By a force that was slowly choking the life out of him. "Me!" He hissed with defeat.

Kalfu nodded with acknowledgement, smirking with triumph as he allowed Sam and Bobby to drop to the floor. The hunters staggered cautiously to their feet.

"Dean, NO!" Sam pleaded, gasping for breath. He couldn't bear to see Dean sacrifice himself, not after their efforts to save him. "Please don't…" The Colt lay just a few feet away, close enough Sam could almost will it into his grasp…

Then Bedlam ignited. Tempestuous winds ripped through the church, and literally tore it apart. The force of the gale lifted both Sam and Bobby off their feet and thrust them back to the floor, and pinned them there. The roof was completely blasted off the church, and two of the four walls disintegrated like a house of cards. Then the earth beneath them began to quake and shudder, the floorboards undulated in a sea of waves until the church itself ruptured in two. The floorboards through the center of the church exploded outwards, showering them in a hail of splintered timber. The floor joists were laid bear like the ribs on a skeleton, as the ground below ruptured. Only Dean and Kalfu were encircled by the only remaining stable ground, apparently unaffected by the demon's destruction, whilst Sam and Bobby were tossed about like kids on surf boards. The separate halves of the quaking building divided as the earth below parted to reveal a gapping fissure that continued to expand in depth and width. The earth groaned and rumbled as the gapping maw obstinately pulled apart. An intense orange light erupted from the abyss, accompanied by an overwhelming heat, as if they stood upon the precipice of a volcano. The fires of Hell leapt up from the chasm.

Dean cast a final glimpse towards Sam before clenching his eyes closed in fear to await his final demise. He swayed precariously as he waited, almost welcoming an end. Heat and a scarlet luminance cloaked him, as searing winds swirled up from the fissure. A misty orange haze encircled him, with tendrils of searing wisps greedily whipping at his body.

Kalfu leaned over and patted his favorite hound on the head. He leaned to whisper in the dog's ear then sent it on its mission. It leapt towards Dean and pounced upon his chest, its savage claws gouging themselves into Dean's already lacerated shoulder. The momentum of the hound's lunge hurled them both into the fiery crevice.

"NOOOO!" Sam screamed in horror, and with a miraculous, magnetic draw the Colt leapt up from the floor and flew into his hand. Without considering the rationale Sam squeezed the trigger as he aimed the pistol towards Kalfu. The shot hit the demon in the upper thigh and downed him instantly. Kalfu wailed in both pain and awe, glaring with bewilderment at Sam with blazing eyes. Kalfu's body trembled until it was wracked with violent convulsions. His face twisted and contorted as electrifying pulses erupted from his mouth. His face slowly burned away, the fires in his eyes consuming his flesh in a slow cremation of his entire body. Kalfu shrieked with an ear-shattering wail as thick, black ichors spewed from his mouth. The smoke hovered hesitantly above them, blacking out the moon's feeble glow, then with an unearthly shriek the cloud was sucked, like a vacuum, back into the depths of Hell.

At the same instance the winds ceased and the hounds vanished, in growling agony, in a similar hazy miasma of smoke; sucked back into Hell with their master.

Sam collapsed to his knees in despair; Kalfu's demise was mere seconds too late. Sam's breaths came in short gasps, hyperventilating in shock and horror as the Colt tumbled from his grasp. Bobby gazed back at him with equal dismay from the other side of the fiery abyss.

Their last bid attempt to save Dean had failed and there were no more second chances.

Dean had been cast into the fiery pit of Hell.

As Sam peered into the blazing inferno he could almost make out innumerable souls clawing their way up towards the surface.

"We have to close it somehow Sam… it's another damned Devil's Gate!" Bobby urged, reaching for his duffle and his leather-bound compendium of rites and rituals. "I'm sure there's something in here…"

Bobby began to chant in Latin.

The earth began to shudder, and what commenced with a slight tremor quickly grew to a discernable quake. Sam watched as the fissure creaked and groaned as it tenaciously inched closed.

"Dean!" Sam pounced to the fissure's edge and almost threw himself over. Bobby had to lunge at him to stop him from throwing himself in after his brother. "No… Dean!"

"No Sam, you gotta let him go!" Bobby grabbed Sam by his jacket and shook him, to make him accept the full reality of the situation: Dean was gone, and he was never coming back!

"No, Bobby, I can SEE Dean!" Sam yelled back. He broke free of Bobby's grasp as he pointed into the depths of the chasm.

"Damned, Son-of-a-bitch!" Bobby shouted in dismay.

He really was there. Dean lay precariously on a miniscule excuse for a ledge. The abyss walls shook and trembled, as the gapping crags closed, and Dean's limbs dangled like a rag doll: He was at serious threat of plummeting over.

"Stop it closing Bobby… we gotta get him out!" Sam begged desperately; on the verge of scaling down the precipice bare handed.

"I can't stop it Sam. I'm not even sure _I_ got it to close…" Bobby certainly hadn't gotten more than a few lines into the ritual.

"I'm not leaving him!" Sam snapped back instantly. "And you can't stop me!"

"No, not like this Sam. I got rope, in the pickup!" Bobby clarified. "You can't carry him back up bare handed!"

Sam lashed the rope around himself, in crude a harness, then without thought or doubt he scaled over the precipice and abseiled down into Hell.

As the abyss groaned and grated, steadily narrowing, Sam's task became precariously desperate. The fissure would soon close completely, crushing both Winchesters to death between its rocky faces, if it's staggered, volatile jolting and shaking didn't toss them into its fiery depths first.

As he approached the ledge, mere seconds from finding his own foot hold, the chasm shuddered once more. Dean's weight shifted and he began to slide over the edge, the weight of his dangling limbs over balancing him entirely.

"DEAN!" Sam screamed as he relinquished his hold upon the rope and dropped the remaining meter to the ledge, his feet precariously planting themselves between Dean's thighs, and temporarily halting his slide. Sam carefully knelt down, acutely aware that he stood mere inches from plummeting straight into Hell. He was pretty sure this way was a direct route; do not pass Go, or Judgment, or Purgatory or any other hopes of redemption. _'Abandon Hope, all ye who enter… or fall in!'_

Dean lay deathly still and inert. Sam was at a loss at to weather he even lived or not. Blood seemed to dribble from his mouth and from a brutal gash across his brow, and Sam prayed it indicated his heart still pumped vital blood through his ravaged body…

Dean's eye's snapped open and he arched back in dismay. He gasped with a frantic lungful of air, as if all this time he hadn't taken breath. He coughed, as the acerbic sulfuric gases filled his.

"Where?" He gasped, his throat still gravelly as his lungs filled with the suffocating fumes of Hell. "Where the hell are we?"

"Yeah, pretty much… Hell." Sam smirked in trademark Winchester 'situation normal' fashion.

Dean's gaze scanned the formidable wall opposite. The chasm had closed enough he could almost reach out and touch it. His gaze inched up the seemingly infinite meters to the top, where Bobby's anxious face peered back with unbridled apprehension.

"Who's up there?" Dean muttered.

"What?" Sam muttered as he tried to lift Dean's lethargic torso up. He glanced upwards at Bobby's unmistakable face peering back. The seasoned hunter was even wearing his trademark baseball cap and flack jacket. The fires of Hell had brilliant illuminating qualities. "Dean, its Bobby! Dean are you o…."

Sam's concern sprang up a notch; however it was quickly stifled as they were rocked by another quake.

"I'm gonna haul you up. All you need to do is hang on, ok? Can you do that?" Sam queried nervously. Dean's gazed found him once more and Dean almost managed a confident smile as he nodded his head again. "Ok, on three…" Sam instructed.

"One… two… three!" Sam pulled on the rope, hoisting Dean a foot higher. Once he had the momentum, Sam compelled his arms to continue with the next heave, and the next and another after that. He kept tugging on the rope, hand over hand, over and over again. Until Bobby finally managed to haul the injured hunter over the edge.

"Sam!" Bobby shouted to the hunter. "SAM! Get your ass outta there!" Bobby ordered. "And fast!" Bobby tossed the other end of the rope back down to him, so that he could climb out himself.

Sam had neglected the closing abyss and the devious chasm had almost closed in about him. The opposite crag was within arm's reach.

Sam pulled on the rope, allowing his feet to rise off the ledge and stepped up the crevasse, one step at a time.

Bobby was awestruck as Sam's momentum suddenly surged upwards. Only to realize Dean had regained enough strength to begin tugging at the rope himself. He could scarcely keep himself upright, however he'd found the strength and will to save his brother.

"Just hang on Sam, we'll haul you out!" Bobby yelled to him.

Eventually Bobby's hand was reaching for him, desperate to secure a firm handhold on his jacket. Once achieved Sam was amazed at Bobby's strength, when he was hauled out in one almighty heave.

Sam gagged and coughed as Bobby's arms were strangled them both; hugging both Winchesters so tight they could barely breathe.

As the trio shuffled from the fissure's edge the chasm groaned rebelliously and slammed closed. With an ear shattering crash, the earth impacted and pulverized with the force of its closure. Thick clouds of dirt and remnant sulfuric gases exploded over them in a shower of rocks and dirt. The heat dissipated instantly and the devastated ruins of the church fell silent once more.

"Let's get the _Hell_ outta here." Bobby sighed as he held Dean in his arms. Sam nodded enthusiastically and he staggered to his feet.

"Shit yeah!" Sam agreed.

Although Bobby searched for her, Ruby was no where to be found. Both Bobby and Sam feared her fate had been sealed by the Hounds that perused her. The carnage of evidence of both beast and demon had disappeared; their carcasses and their very remaining essence had been sucked back into the very depths of Hell. It would seem this particular battle was a win to the only humans in the group.

Daylight's first tentative fingers of pink and gold clawed at the horizon. Dawn was just breaking as they made their way back to their cars.

Dean had lived to see another day…


	2. Chapter 1

_**I began this Fanfic just after 'Jus in Bello' was aired (in Australia), however by the time it was completed I had seen Supernatural episodes up to and including 'No Rest for the Wicked'. The basic plot was already set, and the story had to be told. So please forgive me any incongruities with Kripke's story line, I realize my theories on Dean's redemption are already a little obsolete. However I hope you enjoy my tale none-the-less.**_

_**Generally no spoilers. **_

_**Note; **__**this fic follows directly on from 'Highway to Hell'.**_

**oooOOOooo**

_**A few hours l**__**ater…**_

_**Little Rock, ARKANSAS. **_

Given Dean's close brush not only with death, but with Hell itself, Bobby and Sam were perhaps overly protective of the obstinate hunter. Both would happily have wrapped Dean in cotton wool and locked him away in a securely padded, and demon free room, or, if possible, universe, had Dean not maintained his firm stoic insistence that he was perfectly all right. Of course they'd both heard it all before from Dean. Usually the more he denied injury, the more concerned they should become…

A friend of Bobby's in Little Rock, a fully fledged doctor no less, tended to all their wounds. He was notably amazed by their incredible story of survival, as mind blowing as it was for the humble physician. He was well aware of what Bobby did as a '_hobby'_; he was himself indebted to his age old friend for eradicating a violent, vengeful spirit from his century old home some decade ago. The short, rotund, grey-haired and jovial Dr. Frederick William Hayes was well known amongst the ranks of hunters, and although he did not hunt himself he had seen more than one battle-weary hunter in his time. His entire basement, now spirit free, had been converted into something of an exclusive clinic solely for hunters. Although he lacked all the modern, new-aged, fandangled equipment, scanners, monitors or pathology, Fred was as good as they came with intuition, innovation and experience. Most attractive of his services was that he would provide them 'no questions' asked, although he was never objectionable to a truly fascinating yarn. And in need of the obviously, medically related information he had become quite adept in prying pretty much the whole saga from his patients in a manner that left one eager to retell every last gory detail. But most enticing was that he provided his services free of charge, that didn't mean, of course, that he wouldn't gratefully accept the odd bottle of whiskey, age-old protection amulet or Confederate gold… This wasn't the first time Bobby had come to him for help, and probably wouldn't be the last.

Much to Sam and Bobby's surprise, and to their relief, Dean had actually been right about his condition. Although he had lost a scary amount of blood, Dr. Hayes was adamant his wounds weren't as devastating as both hunters had expected. Not really even close to life threatening. All in all, Dean had survived the ordeal miraculously well. His lacerations still had to be painstakingly sutured, by Fred, in a task worthy of a plastic surgeon. But, aside from an obviously fractured collar bone, Fred was confident Dean's wounds would heal within weeks. Even though Fred had suspected a few cracked ribs and a fractured forearm Dean had proved him wrong, able to bend and flex his wrist, with full mobility and very little, to no, pain or hindrance. And without an x-ray Fred had no reason to dispute it. It was his thigh that seemed to give Dean the greatest grief. It pained him no end, with deep muscle and tissue damage it wasn't surprising. However, his injuries hardly prevented him moving about, even if with a painful and debilitating hobble. Of course Dean's restlessness and impatient demeanor hardly helped his case when he insisted upon being up and walking around, rather than attempting anything close to bed rest.

"I'm just glad the Hounds' bite wounds aren't that bad." Sam admitted to Bobby with relief. They were exhausted, hurting and almost devoid of any kind of emotion. The overwhelming relief and awe of Dean's survival had drained both hunters dry of any other feeling. "I would have thought a Hell Hound could sever a limb… we must have stopped them in the nick of time."

"I can't argue with you there." Bobby replied as he blankly watched the doctor suture the deep gash to Dean's brow. Dean lay stoically upon Fred's examination table, immune to the pain that had previously wracked his shredded limbs, thanks to some powerful painkillers. It took some time before Bobby actually registered that the redeemed hunter had an intense expression across his face, indicative of frustration or irritation. Slowly concern crept into Bobby's sentiments. From the moment they had arrived at Fred's, all the eldest Winchester apparently wanted to do was leave, as soon as possible, defiant to the end that he was perfectly ok. And having his wounds tended to was nothing less than an annoying hindrance, preventing him from going to where ever it was he thought he wanted to be. He hadn't actually informed either of them of just what he was in such a hurry to do…

Fred was a patient man, accustomed to the trademark impatience and determination of most of the hunters that passed through his clinic. However Fred was a marvel at ministering medical attention, almost on the fly, with remarkably good results. So the doctor continued to swiftly administer the medical aid he knew the eldest Winchester was in need of, ignoring Dean's glare of resentment and his occasional venting.

For all his astonishment at Dean's miraculous survival, Bobby was deeply apprehensive. And as he chatted to Fred, whilst he had his own wounds tended to, Fred revealed that he too had some underlying concerns: The young hunter had obviously sustained a high impact blow to the head. The deep gash to Dean's brow was accompanied by some spectacular bruising across his forehead and haloing his eye. His main worry was a suspected, and possibly major, concussion. He wasn't altogether prepared to rule out a potential skull fracture or hemorrhaging either. However, Dean was defiantly adamant about not going within a mile of an actual hospital, so without proper medical equipment to perform a thorough scan, Fred had to rely on Dean's physical reactions for an assessment. It was only that Dean seemed lost and disorientated when in discussion with either Sam or Bobby, as if huge slabs of his memory had disintegrated, that had given rise to the doctor's concerns. Still weary from his ordeal, at the jaws of the Hell Hounds, not to mention tossed into the depths of Hell, it wasn't overly surprising, except that Dean's mental alertness seemed unhindered in any other way. But, if nothing else, Dean had at least notched up another impressive scar that ran across his brow, along his hair line.

None of the hunters thought to mention aloud, the fact that a head injury had almost claimed him once before, after one of Azazel's minions had rammed a semi trailer into the Impala… But then, it was only Sam, John and Bobby who had been forced to endure Dean's tentative clutch at life then. Dean was as oblivious to his near death ordeal then, as he apparently was now. Bobby was seriously starting to wonder if Death now took a sadistic pleasure in dangling him so close, and then casting him back into the world of the living…

Sam and Bobby faired much better, only having sustained a few bumps and bruises, and some nasty rock-salt abrasions and superficial lacerations from the shattered stained glass windows. Bobby's gashed brow required little more than a few butterfly strips. After Dean was given a number of precautionary shots, from tetanus to rabies, a dose of antibiotics and some pretty decent pain killers, Fred was cautiously compliant for the hunters to leave his vigilant care, and besides, he knew trying to prevent the obstinate patient could otherwise very well result in an all out revolt. He would rather ensure Dean would return for further examinations, than to infuriate him into refusing to come back at all. So, for good measure, and on Bobby's insistence, the hunters booked themselves into a motel a half hour drive from Fred's house. So that Dr Hayes could give Dean regular examinations to be sure there were no surprise after effects of his injuries; still much to Dean's resentment.

oooOOOooo

_**A week later…**_

_**Hightop Motel,**_

_**Little Rock, ARKANSAS. **_

Their room at the Hightop Motel was reasonably priced, and considering its rather dubious location, was of quite a decent standard. It suited Bobby's wallet, though, and it had the luxury of a small kitchenette, a comfortable lounge suite, a color TV and a lavish bathroom. With the possibility of a prolonged stay, should Dean's condition deteriorate in any way, they would be comfortable. And they were, at the very least, stuck there until Dean's sutures had to be taken out.

"How's the patient?" Bobby queried after having shopped for basic groceries and fetched the trio of hunters' dinner. With their battle finally over, and with things quiet, and all concerned declared almost fit and sound, Bobby had thought it appropriate that he prepare something special, to finally celebrate their victory over Kalfu. All things considered, Bobby was even prepared to let Dean have a beer, if he behaved himself; and that would be the real battle! Having kept Dean confined to the motel room, for his own good, had not been the most pleasurable of experiences for any of the hunters concerned. Deanwas like a caged beast, with a very sore head. He lashed out at both Sam and Bobby for even the most trivial reasons. He wanted out, pure and simple, to live his new lease on life, to the fullest! Dean had argued incessantly that he was perfectly alright, and that he wanted to 'really' celebrate. Even Bobby knew that his meager celebration meal wasn't quite what Dean had in mind.

Bobby had sighed with relief after their earlier visit with the doctor, that morning, and couldn't suppress a grin of elation when Fred had given Dean a glowing bill of good health. The only dampening to the good news, however, was that the doctor still had minor concerns about Dean's head injury. With repeated instances of the hunter having obvious memory lapses, he was concerned Dean was perhaps suffering from more than a bad concussion. Fred warned him that he should still try to take things easy for a while. His other wounds were healing remarkably well, although Dean was reminded that patience was necessary: His fractured collar bone would take several weeks before it was completely healed, and it seemed his lacerated thigh would also take some time. Dean hadn't seemed overly impressed by the doctor's advice.

"He must be ok, 'cause he took off." Sam snapped back with obvious animosity. His blank, steadfast expression screamed _'I should have known he'd pull this kind of stupid stunt!'_ Trying to deal with his own confused, battered and bruised emotions was exhausting enough; dealing with Dean's obstinate denials of anything out of the ordinary was far too overwhelming. Playing the role of his brother's keeper was grueling; playing Dean's keeper was near impossible!

"He what?" Bobby grunted in disbelief as he dumped the bags of groceries on the small dining table by the window. "When?"

"About an hour ago now. I went to take a leak…" Sam sighed, "and when I came out, he was gone."

"Damn it!" Bobby exclaimed. There was no denying there was something very off about Dean. It had had Bobby concerned almost from the moment they'd arrived at Fred's. To think of him wandering the streets was troubling to say the least. Aside from his obvious injuries, Bobby still couldn't entirely ignore that he may have a possible brain injury, not to mention his traumatized psyche. Dean just hadn't seemed himself since the ordeal. He simply wasn't quite right! _The kid could lie to all and sundry, 'til Hell froze over, but Dean wasn't fooling anyone! He had a lot of healing to do, physically and emotionally._

"Well, he's on foot, if that's any consolation." Sam explained, pulling the Impala's key's from his jeans pocket in way of proof. "So he won't get far. And we're still totally and utterly broke so…" Sam shrugged his shoulders; what Dean could possibly be doing was beyond him. He had no money, or usable credit cards and he was still hobbling around like an old man with gout.

"I suppose that's something…" Bobby mused. "Where the hell would he go?"

"I don't know." Sam sighed. He'd already checked in a few of the bars and clubs, problem was, the motel was smack in the middle of the seedy side of town. Dean could have been anywhere! "I went looking for him, but he completely Houdini-ed me!"

"So what do we do?" Bobby remarked. "Just stick our thumbs up our asses and wait?"

Sam shrugged, he'd run out of ideas. "You think that… He will be all right… won't he?" Sam, beneath his obvious annoyance at Dean's thoughtlessness, was clearly worried.

"He's a big boy…" Bobby remarked trying to reassure them both. "Did he take his phone?"

"He may have, but it's switched off." Sam frowned, already having tried to call him from the motel phone. "Even if he tried to call me, Ruby took my cell, remember. I doubt he'd remember the motel number."

Even though they'd tried to contact Ruby over the past week, Sam's phone rang out with every attempt. Bobby was pretty sure she was long dead. He'd tried scrying for her, they'd tried summoning her, but every attempt had come up empty. At best Ruby had disappeared… at worst she was dead.

Bobby nodded. If Dean wanted to get in touch with them he had Bobby's number on speed dial, so chances were Dean had done another intentional disappearing act. Something he was becoming a master at.

"Damn him…" Bobby muttered. "I wish I could damn him to Hell for this little prank, but I suppose, under the circumstances, I'd just be tossin' him outta the frying pan!"

oooOOOooo

Dean had made his way to 'Lenny's', a small pool hall three blocks down from the motel. Even as he limped into the dark and dingy establishment his hobbling form caught the attention of a number of patrons, the female portion quite happy to allow their eyes to remain fixed on the handsome, if not disheveled, new comer. Fred had graciously acquired a walking stick for him, as his leg was still more than a little hindrance in mobility for him, so he lumbered in with a defiant, debonair swagger. The motel room, the monotonous midday garbage the TV had to offer and the stifling, molly-coddling attentions of Sam and Bobby had become tiresome. He was alive and he was free, and he was damned well going to enjoy himself!

Lenny's was bustling, to say the least, at the rather early-evening hour. Aside from a dozen or so pool tables, there were numerous booths boasting their fair share of patrons enjoying the loud music, munching on hamburgers and baskets of fries. The dance floor hadn't quite got them hopping yet, however the bar was doing a fair trade with thirsty customers. Dean made a beeline for the pool tables, where a number of games were in progress, most of which seemed highly profitable.

It wasn't long before he'd 'silver tongued' his way into a game of pool. With his obvious injuries Dean hardly appeared as much of a threat. His sleek black cane was a sure indication he had a bung leg of some sort, and he was still sporting a spectacular pallet of color across his eye and brow, although much of the now healing gash was just hidden beneath his hair. The bandage around his right forearm peeked out from his jacket sleeve. He had already removed his sling, before entering the pool hall, which was meant to support his busted left collar bone, as it was more of an encumbrance, than help.

A short, stocky, rusty haired man, who'd introduced himself as Mike, was swiftly and easily suckered into a wager without Dean so much as having to show proof of the staked funds. Of course he didn't actually have any funds. Dean swapped his cane for a cue stick, lumbering awkwardly, but defiantly, to the opposite side of the pool table. Even as Tom broke, and proceeded to pot three balls, a confident, victorious glimmer remained steadfast in Dean's eye and played upon his grin. Twenty minutes later he smiled contently as Tom handed over a crisp new fifty. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

A small group of women, dressed far too scantily and seductively for a pool hall, hovered close to him, and he smiled and flirted with them, despite the envious and resentful glares from the men. It only helped to fuel the competitive nature of his potential opponents; they couldn't, after all, engage in a brawl of retaliation with the obviously debilitated Casanova. But there wasn't a man in the pool hall that wasn't keen on whippin' his ass at the pool table. And there wasn't one that wasn't left out of pocket after the experience. The elder Winchester was a gifted pool player but an even shrewder hustler. In this instance his cocky and blatantly arrogant persona only stimulated his competitors' desire to challenge him.

Some hours later, with his pockets fully lined he graciously declined further challenges and made his way to a darkened corner. His limp had become pronounced and his leg was obviously troubling him more than he'd like to admit. He took up comfortable residence in a booth, with well-worn couches and a crudely graffiti-ed table, and proceeded to indulge his thirst for alcohol and a couple of admiring, fine looking women. One could be forgiven for thinking some of the girls had been riding on the wagers as well, much to the angry distain of the disgruntled men left both fleeced and unaccompanied. Hustling as a rule tended to be frowned upon, and most of the defeated men in the pool hall were resentful of Dean's out right, arrogant sting. For the time being he was reasonably safe from reprisal: No real man could save face by challenging him to a fight, at least not so long as the men were sober enough to maintain such valor. Had he been in perfect health, odds on he'd already be swinging fists by now.

As he indulged in a cigar, he savored a double-bourbon with delight. He had two sexy women by his side, pandering to his every whim. They were regulars if their obvious acquaintance with most of the staff and many of the patrons was anything to judge by. As the night wore on several of the men requested a rematch, a chance to win back their losses, however Dean had simply cast them a roguish grin and declined. He'd played enough and now he was content to relax and enjoy the admiration of his two pretty admirers. He leaned back with a smug grin of audacity on his face, puffing out smoke circles like an expert. He raised his glass in a mock toast to his irritated audience. The open affections of the two prettiest women in the place had gained him no Brownie points either, and his antagonizing leers of victory directed at the disgruntled men even less so. Unfortunately, his injuries, although they maintained a certain degree of protection, were steadily becoming but a paltry defense. He gazed cautiously at the men, who glared back at him angrily from across the room. The more they drank the angrier they were getting and it wouldn't be long before their vague restrained gallantry evaporated with their sobriety. It was, after all, a seedy pool hall, and a good brawl was often upon the night's agenda. Fists would probably soon swing!

With something of a death wish he blatantly nodded at the men with a conceited smirk of smugness, almost as if he welcomed the physical challenge. As he inhaled, with relish, upon another cigar, he glared back defiantly at the stares of resentment from the small group of mostly inebriated men. With growing concern for her claim upon him, it was one of his female acquaintances who urged Dean to leave.

"Baby, let me take you home…" She whispered in his ear with a velvety smooth tone. "Looks like the boys are wantin' to play rough. I just know we can have so much more fun doin' somethin' else…"

She flicked her shoulder length, auburn hair from her face, blinked her overly shadowed eyes at him and pouted her cherry-red lips seductively. She made sure to lean forward just enough so that he could see straight down her low cut top to the sight of her perfectly shaped breasts. He had become something of a prize between the two, seductively, yet scantily clad, women; each vying for his every attention and his newly stuffed wallet.

"What makes you think I accept lifts from just _anyone_?" Dean teased, openly challenging her morality.

"Oh, I'm not just anyone." She whispered in his ear in a soft sultry voice. "I'm your every fantasy. Believe me, you won't regret it."

"Well. I don't know…" Dean grinned as he coveted the blonde on his other side. "I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for." It was like choosing between Scotch and Bourbon.

The blonde grinned, casting a victorious grin in Mandy's direction. However, Mandy was not about to give in that easily. "Mmm, but I'll do _anything_ you want me to." She offered as she gazed at him from upturned, seductive, brown eyes as her hand caressed his upper thigh.

"But if you want real thrills… if you wanna try something so different it'll blow your mind, and…" The blonde smiled, raising her eyebrows with zealous suggestion. "… well let's just say I'm _very_ flexible… I do yoga…"

Dean leaned back and contemplated his choices. "Hmmmm… I don't know. What's in it for_ me_?" His eyes glimmered mischievously from one to the other.

"Ohh Baby! _Anything_ you want!" Mandy did not hesitate.

Dean simply smiled at her in recognition of her triumph.

oooOOOooo

"You know, now-a-days people will sell their souls for nothing more than a good parking space." Dean muttered as they drove the few minutes back to the motel. He had first hand experience of the raging trade in souls… and Mandy's would be no different. Mandy was clearly expecting to alleviate him of a fair portion of his night's winnings. She had a definite experience about her that suggested she was one of the many who could claim to be part of the world's oldest profession. If only she knew where she was headed, because she'd pretty much already forfeited her soul…

She glanced at him briefly, oblivious to his inference, but presuming he was speculating on just how much his night with her would cost him. Haggling was, after all, all part of the business…

"You want a parking space or me, Baby?" She whispered coyly. "Cause I promise, you ain't gonna stay parked for long!"

He grinned at her, from ear to ear. "Oh, Mandy, I want you… _All of you_." His eyes were fixed on her breasts as her chest heaved, intentionally, with every breath.

"I want you too, Baby." She gloated at her victory. The usual, low-life, Neanderthal prospects at the Pool Hall were pretty piss-poor, however the clientele were certainly reliable; her bread and butter so to speak. Dean was definitely the cream!

"So…" He peered at her with a roguish smile still playing at his lips. With the colorful bruising around his eye transmuting through all the colors of the rainbow he had a definite wounded hero, bad-boy appeal. His green eyes sparkled deviously in the dim street lights as they remained fixed on hers with an unwavering desire. "Just what do I have to pay, to buy you, body and soul?" He pondered.

She contemplated for a moment, speculating just how high a price she could demand. Knowing that he was well and truly cashed up, she aimed high. "Two hundred." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, wanting to appear confident, and worth the price, whilst still gauging his response.

He smiled playfully in response as he chuckled with glee. "Sold!"

oooOOOooo

Even before Mandy had turned the ignition off on her bright yellow Honda, once they had parked outside the motel, Sam had launched himself out of their room door.

"Damn it Dean…" He demanded angrily ripping the car door open and confronting Dean as he endeavored to unfold himself out of the compact hatch back. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Yeah… _Hell!_" Dean retorted sarcastically. "So now I'm livin' it up. You got a problem with that Samuel?" He sneered with a hint of resentment; Sam was definitely an all-round party pooper!

Sam fumed, however the same injuries that had only just saved Dean from a pool hall brawl, were working their enchantment on the younger brother as well. Dean gazed at Sam, his green eyes seeming even greener with the contrasting background pallet of colorful, fading, bruising. He sneered at his brother as he protectively supported his injured arm and collar bone in his grasp. Sam clenched his fists angrily as he glared back at Dean, contemplating his brother's callous thoughtlessness. However, it was hard to be too tough on him as he struggled painfully to alight the car.

"Hey listen, I don't do gang bangs!" Mandy huffed angrily at Sam as she made her way to Dean's side. Sam gazed back at her with a confused expression.

"Course not, I don't like to share either." Dean whispered to her. "I think maybe we should find ourselves our own room…"

"The hell you are!" Sam objected. "You think Bobby's gonna fork out for that? For her?"

Dean chuckled confidently. "I'll pay." He tried to pull himself up to full height whilst leaning heavily on his cane as he retrieved his small wad of notes from his pocket as proof.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Sam demanded.

"I earned it." Dean smirked as he pulled the girl close to him and flirted with her with a teasing brush of his lips over her brow. Her tacky bright red stilettos almost brought her up to Dean's chin; and it placed her almost bare ass just within his appreciative grasp. His eyes remained defiantly on Sam.

"What? How?" Sam queried.

"Baby, you don't have to tell him…" Mandy interrupted, holding her arm around Dean in a protective sign of possession. "Who does he think he is?"

"Relax Mandy… he's just … my_ brother_." Dean explained. "My very over protective, molly-coddling, _brother_!" Dean spat the relationship out with noticeable loathing.

"Damned right!" Sam snapped back. "You're hurt Dean, you nearly died! And if you're not gonna look after yourself, I'm gonna do it for you!" Sam insisted.

"Great, get us a room then, will you?" Dean smirked mischievously.

"No Dean, I'm not getting you a room!" Sam spat at him with growing frustration. "And there's no way you're well enough for…. umm… any kinda… this!"

Mandy glared at Sam vindictively for attempting to interrupt her intended transaction with Dean. "Let's just go…" She urged the elder Winchester.

"Dean, I swear to god, if I have to, I'll tie you up and drag you back in here!" Sam snapped angrily, hazel eyes blazing with frustration.

"You thinkin' Mandy might like a bit of _kinky_… Yeah… bondage!" Dean smirked, as Mandy giggled at his quip. "Why Sam, you rogue!"

"_Mandy_…" Sam addressed her directly, with a stern frown. She was definitely dressed to impress, with a tacky vinyl miniskirt far too short for the chilly night, and a gaudy crimson wrap-around top that left nothing to the imagination. "I think it's time you go."

"What?" She objected, prepared to stand her ground. "No way!"

"I said GO!" Sam snapped angrily at her as he towered menacingly over her and reached for Dean's elbow. She cowered backwards, looking to Dean to raise an objection.

"Why Samuel…" Dean grinned, "getting a little testy are we? Or jealous? Maybe Mandy should invite her friend over… Sally. She was pretty hot. You could use a little therapeutic release…" Dean smirked at Sam as he cradled the woman in his arms and then proceeded to lavish her with a long passionate kiss. She was excitedly impressed and began to lay her arms about his neck in a tight embrace; however Dean stepped backwards, away from her. "Actually, you'd best head on home Mandy, party's over. I don't think my brother's gonna let us have that room. I think this should cover what I owe you…" He grinned with a wicked glimmer in his eyes and tucked a number of folded fifties into her cleavage. Then he slapped her on the ass and shoved her back towards her car. She gazed back at him with apparent confusion; she'd definitely had more amorous intentions in mind…

"Will I see you again?" She stammered hopefully. "At Lenny's?"

"Maybe…" Dean grinned. "If you're lucky."

"_No, you won't_!" Sam stated defiantly, to both Dean and the woman. "Are you outta your mind?" He snapped at Dean, scrutinizing him with an examining glare, almost ready to drag him back into the protection of the motel room with force if need be. Dean returned his glare with a cool stare of his own, he wasn't about to be intimidated by his overly protective kid brother, even if he did stand a half head taller!

Dean winked at Mandy before he hobbled back towards their room. Bobby was at the door, with a frown of frustration and anger plastered across his face. "You pulled some stunts in your time, Dean Winchester, but this…" Bobby was so angry he hadn't the words to convey his disappointment in his pseudo-son.

"What?" Dean snapped back conceitedly. "I went out for few hours! I am a big boy you know; I'm perfectly capable of…"

"The hell you are!" Bobby roared. "You selfish little shit! You got any idea how worried we've been? That crack to your skull has really screwed you up! Do you even realize that you could have bleedin' on the brain? And you go off gallivanting with some two-bit hussy? Since when did you ever have to pay for a cheep bit of gutter-trash like that?" Bobby spat out with loathing. "And… the hell if you don't even smell like a brothel too! You been drinkin'… and smokin'?"

"None of your business!" Dean retorted furiously. "Like I even give a damn what you think! Just who the hell do you think _you_ are? You interfering old coot! You're certainly _not_ _my father_! You don't even come close!"

If the breaking of a heart could be heard, all those, in a 50 mile radius, would have been deafened by Bobby's. It was more than just broken, Dean had, in those few words, annihilated it. Bobby's face dropped in complete grief. He was crushed. "Ain't never thought I was…"

"Damn it Dean, you didn't mean that!" Sam retaliated. "You didn't…"

Dean simply glared back with a vicious sneer to his mouth. "Yeah I did. Who the hell does he think he is? Freaking Team Mascot or something?" He hobbled to the kitchenette and opened the fridge. "I'm hungry, got anything to eat?"

"Looks like I'm not welcome any more." Bobby muttered as he moved to his duffle. He glanced at Sam, who tried to convey a consoling gaze, however Bobby shook his head grimly as he shoved his belongings into the bag with trembling hands. He just didn't know how to face Dean now. The elder Winchester had been out of sorts for the last week, certainly not himself. He'd been short-tempered and irritated, like a bear with a sore head. Both Sam and Bobby had put it down to his injuries, and the close call with death… and Hell. But as time passed Dean's attitude was spiraling downwards, into hatred, loathing and full-on rage. Bobby shouldn't have been surprised by Dean's scathing verbal attack; it had cut to the bone. But now he'd had enough, right now, no amount of apologies was going to make amends. Bobby was hurt.

"Bobby, please… he's just drunk." Sam begged. He couldn't face being left to contend with Dean on his own, not this new, conceited, out-of-control, self-consumed Dean. "Don't go."

Bobby shook his head, and mumbled softly to himself, something along the lines of _'Freaking Team Mascot! I know who the hell I am!... Help save his damned ass… all the thanks I get…damned pig-headed, self consumed, shit-head… just like his damned father… ain't gotta hang around for this!'_

It was breaking his heart, Dean was breaking his heart. He really didn't want to leave the brothers, but they all had issues they needed to resolve, he just wasn't sure he had the strength to watch Dean's death wish blossom, not after all they'd been through. Dean, it would appear, needed to deal with more than his latest escape from death, something far more sinister was eating away at his psyche. Bobby just couldn't hang around and watch as he self-destructed, taking down everything, and everybody around him in the process. His little jaunt to Lenny's and his attempted fling with Mandy was simply the tip of the ice berg. Dean Winchester was in one hell of a tail spin, apparently straight back into Hell!

"Please Bobby…" Sam pleaded. "Please don't go… I need you..."

"Damn it Samuel let him go!" Dean snapped. "Interfering, old…"

"Shut up Dean!" Sam shouted back. "You inconsiderate, ungrateful…" Sam stammered for words to convey his anger. "Bobby just hauled your damned ass outta Hell, and this is how you show your thanks?"

"Huh!" Dean huffed with exaggerated surprise. "Samuel, _you're_ the one who pulled me out! So what, now I gotta be eternally grateful? What happened exactly, I somehow sell my soul to the old man instead now?"

Bobby glared at Dean as he gritted out the only retaliation he could think of. "I ain't old!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam demanded.

"Exactly…" Dean snipped. "Damn Samuel, I just got outta Hell, I'm _alive!_ So from now on I'm gonna enjoy every last minute I get Top Side! I'm not hangin' around here, day after day, cooped up like some freakin' helpless invalid! You wanna tell me what's wrong with that?"

"Damn it Dean, can't you at least wait 'til you're better first?" Sam demanded. "Look at you, you hankering to bust open your sutures, or aggravate your collar bone? And where's your damned sling?"

Sam moved to physically search his brother for the gauze sling. Just how Dean had managed to wander around without it, Sam had no idea. Sam figured he must be in agony by now. Dean cast him a glare worthy of a vaporizing machine, however conceded to at least pull the sling from his jacket inner pocket and made a flourished display of putting it back on.

"Happy now?" Dean demanded.

"No!" Sam snapped back. "You'd better apologize to Bobby, or so help you…"

"Or what? What you gonna do? Chuck me back into the infernal pit?" Dean mocked. He paused and contemplated Sam's flushed face. Sam was fuming, beyond words, and verging on snapping Dean physically back into some semblance of common decency. Dean smirked back. "Been there, done that, what's next on the itinerary?" He knew just how to push Sam's buttons!

Sam cuffed him by his jacket collar and shoved him against the wall. "Yeah, maybe I should!" He snapped angrily. "What's wrong with you? Your brush with Hell, turn you into a complete asshole?"

Dean made a point of wincing at Sam's manhandling, clutching at his mauled shoulder and fractured clavicle. "Huh?… Who's being… the asshole… now?" He groaned trying to pry Sam's firm grasp away. "What happen _Samuel_… you finally grow some?"

"You're really on a roll aren't you?" Sam sniped, his grip firm. "Enough with the 'Samuel' already, it's really not funny!" Sam retorted irately. Dean seemed to find some base, childish, amusement out of taunting him with his proper name, only because the Crossroad Demon, Kalfu, had done so. And it was working extremely well; it had finally got an angry rise out of him.

"Believe me _Samuel_, I don't do 'funny'!" Dean retorted with a penetrating glare, verging on malevolent.

Sam hesitated for an instance at Dean's mock claim_. Dean didn't do 'funny'? 'Goof-Ball' was practically his middle name!_ He frowned with confusion, was this how Dean was going to be from now on?

"It's Sam, all right!" Sam released his grip on his brother's jacket, prepared to be the one to back down, and hope that things might return to some kind of normal – Winchester normal at any rate. Dean was never good at dealing with emotions, or injury… Sam just had to wait until Dean could process everything, or so he tried to convince himself.

Dean shoved Sam's shoulder in reprisal as he pushed past him. "Fine '_Sam'_… Shoulda known you wouldn't have the balls!"

Sam glared at him intensely. "That's what all this is about? You're actually _buckin'_ for a fight?" Sam demanded.

"Trust me _Sam_." Dean rebuked. "If I'd have wanted a fight I coulda had one back at Lenny's, with some _real_ men…" He grimaced with pain, as he limped past Sam, his hand clutched at his injured shoulder. "Just interested in how much 'man' you actually got in you."

Sam gulped with duel emotions and he shook his head in disbelief. His rage still boiled, however guilt flooded him for having hurt his brother. He knew that he had to let himself calm down, had to let Dean calm down. He had to distance himself…

Sam staggered away, pausing to glance at Bobby as he slumped onto the small couch, running his hands through his thick brown mane. He wondered how their lives could have turned so ugly, so fast. It was almost as if Hell had followed them, or more precisely had followed Dean, out of the raging inferno.

"Well… this ain't quite how I'd pictured us celebratin'." Bobby muttered.

"Celebrate? Great! So, where's the beer and what's to eat?" Dean grinned at them, not quite with his usual roguish innocence, but rather a conniving attempt to settle the dust.

With Dean in pain, Sam couldn't bring himself to continue confronting his brother about his childish stunt. He had to concede; he and Bobby both, had been smothering him. And Dean was never one to accept buckets of TLC; usually he couldn't even bring himself to admit when he was hurt!

Sam forced himself to let it go. Once Dean stopped hurting he knew things would get better, or he hoped so. He knew from experience there were things Dean had to sort out for himself, in his own time. Things that Dean would usually bottle up for so long they would explode of their own accord, and then things could settle again… Sam wasn't looking forward to that eruption, not if all this were the initial tremors. Instead of pushing the issue Sam resigned himself to prepare Dean what was left of Bobby's celebratory meal.

"Please Bobby, stay." Sam pleaded with his trusted friend as Dean demolished the inch thick steak. "Dean just needs to accept everything's ok."

"Sam, Dean needs a good kick in the ass." Bobby glared at him with all seriousness. "I don't know what's gotten into him, but it ain't good. I know he can be a conceited, arrogant, pig-headed, self-righteous shit at times, but right now he's outta control… and it ain't gonna end well."

"What can I do, Bobby?" Sam begged giving Dean a brief glance. Dean seemed content to ignore them, wolfing down the medium rare morsel with delight.

"I wish I knew…" Bobby sighed. "Maybe he'll calm down eventually… maybe if we just get him back into some kind of normal."

"What, you don't mean like a hunt?" Sam frowned. Dean was hardly up to brushing his own teeth, let alone tackling some kind of evil or handling a deadly weapon!

"Well… no, not yet." Bobby seemed to agree. "But maybe get him into, I dunno, lookin' for one… researching?"

Sam's dumbfounded expression said it all. Dean, doing research? That really was so not the right tact.

"Yeah, you're right. Look Sam I dunno…" Bobby sighed, softening to Sam's pleading. "I guess we're all getting a bit of cabin fever stuck in here all day long."

Sam nodded. Cabin fever was right. Being stuck with a troubled, hurting, cooped up Dean Winchester was bordering on a fever of Black Plague proportions!

Outside another storm began to rage, with a dazzling display of lightning lighting the skies, as thunder ripped through the noise of the down pour that accompanied it.

oooOOOooo


	3. Chapter 2

**_The next morning,_**

**_Hightop Motel,_**

**_Little Rock_****_, ARKANSAS_****_. _**

Dean's eyes strained open. He ran his tongue around his mouth as his hand reached up and massaged his brow. He squinted into the bright mid-morning light and grunted as he cleared his throat and eased himself up onto one elbow. The night's storm had abated and the sun now had dominance in the sky, streaming through the opened drapes at the windows.

Sam glanced at him, from down turned eyes, cautiously and secretly, observing him. He watched as Dean scowled with the odd, foul, day-after taste of alcohol in his mouth and fought the lingering drowsiness. Dean continued to blink into the intense sunlight.

Sam resumed tapping away at his laptop, with a determined frown on his brow. Bobby was engrossed in cleaning his weapons. He gave Dean a brief glance over the top of the now gleaming Colt.

"Good morning." Bobby cast him a tentative greeting. At least when Dean slept he was the same old Dean Winchester, and it was easy for the weathered old hunter to forgive him his tirade of the night before.

"Good, my ass!" Dean frowned angrily.

'_So much for the old Dean'_ Bobby sighed to himself, wondering how, in the world, he had let Sam talk him into staying.

"Any chance you could quit being such an asshole today?" Sam retorted without so much as taking his eyes of his laptop. "Cause if you're gonna start up with all your shit again, so help me, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Dean snapped back angrily as he frowned at Sam with an intense resentment. Sam glared back at Dean this time, with 'serious' written all over his face. He maintained his fierce look with a steadfast determination. Eventually Dean smirked slightly: Sam wasn't about to give in.

"Fine." Dean surrendered, running his hand through his 'bed-hair'. "What's that?" He queried as he staggered to his feet. He was clad in little more than his bandages, and the last, lingering vestiges of his bruises and grazes, wearing nothing but his boxers. Sam tried unsuccessfully to look away, amazed at how well Dean's wounds had healed. He found it hard to suppress a smirk when he locked eyes with his irritated brother, however Dean glared back at Sam's audacity with eyes blazing green with ire.

"Some stuff goin' on around here…" Sam replied glancing away, a little more somber as he contemplated the possible job. After his discussions with Bobby, the previous night, it hadn't taken Sam long to find something, their kind of unusual, to spark his interest. In fact, signs had been staring them all in the face since they'd arrived at Little Rock. Aside from accessing the Internet, Sam had a number of local newspapers strewn across the table. "Demon kinda stuff."

"Demon?" Dean queried Sam, his face dropped into a scowl and he seemed openly nervous. His cautious gaze flicked from Sam to Bobby and back, in agitated suspicion. Bobby paused as he checked the chamber of the Colt, to gaze at the anxious hunter. Dean noticeably startled at the soft click as Bobby snapped the pistol back into configuration.

"Yeah… I think there's a demon here… right now!" Sam stated bluntly as he bore a determined gaze at Dean, looking to assess his readiness for a job.

"Oh." Dean gulped anxiously, his muscles tensed noticeably and he stepped back towards the wall, his eyes fixed on Bobby, and the demon killing weapon in his hands.

Both Sam and Bobby noticed the look of trepidation flash across Dean's face. Sam glanced up at Bobby with perplexity, concerned by the elder Winchester's sudden panic. However Bobby ignored the younger Winchester's inquisition, he was too preoccupied by Dean's terrified glare. Dean's pale expression was anxious and apprehensive and Sam realized his brother was majorly spooked. Bobby feared, maybe, it was too soon: That a hunt wasn't what Dean needed after all. Just maybe he needed the opposite, to get away from the things that went 'bump in the night' altogether…

"Sam's just been messin' about, Dean." Bobby reassured as he put the Colt back into his weapons' duffel. "Ain't probably anything."

"Yeah…" Sam added. "Don't really know just yet."

Dean appeared to calm. He retrieved a pair of jeans from his bag and pulled them on before hobbling hesitantly across the room to Sam's side. "What demon?" He asked, swallowing nervously, easing himself into a chair by Sam's side, with a clear look of apprehension.

Sam glanced at Bobby for an indication on how to proceed. The seasoned hunter was just as baffled as Sam as to what to do. Eventually Bobby raised his eyebrow and nodded for Sam to reveal the possible gig to him.

"Well I'm not 100 percent it's actually a demon, yet." Sam muttered cautiously. "There have been a few strange deaths…"

Dean leaned forward, focused on Sam's laptop, as he took in the information. He seemed fascinated by the facts splashed across the screen. The news report, titled '_The Torch claims another victim'_, although a couple of days old, spoke about the death of a young man, the third victim in similar circumstances. The man, in his early twenties had, like the previous two, been burned to death. The bodies had all been found in unoccupied warehouses, in the south side of the city, in the mostly abandoned suburb of Drawly.

"What makes you…?" Dean began to query, when Sam cut him short.

"Yeah, I know, could just be a psycho, serial killer… police are, of course, stumped." Sam pre-empted Dean's usual cynicism.

"But _you_ think it's a demon?" Dean's eyebrows arched in utter disbelief.

"Pretty sure." Sam shrugged his shoulders imploring confidence in his assumptions. "There was also that flock of pigeons that dropped outta the sky a week ago… stone, cold dead! And that freakish electrical storm just last night... plus there's some Internet gossip that mentions some possibly satanically-linked symbols at the crime scene. So I'm pretty sure it's some type of our kinda freaky…"

"This is seriously how you track down demons?" Dean queried.

"Dude…" Sam beseeched. "We've looked into less."

"Could there be any less?" Dean demanded.

Sam gave a convincing injured look. "Well… I thought I might go check things out. I've got the address of where they found the last body." Sam said, hoping Dean would want to come along of his own will. Sam figured he should at least be well enough for a bit of investigating… "You up for it?"

"If it gets us outta this room…" Dean replied. "This I gotta see."

oooOOOooo

The abandoned warehouse mimicked a number in the area. The entire industrial estate had long since passed its 'use by date'. Many warehouses and factories were in disrepair; their only value lay in the land prices in the area. And judging by the number of vacant buildings, with real estate 'For Sale' or 'For Lease' signs plastered in front, it wasn't an area that was all that high in demand.

Their trip over had been in near silence. Dean hadn't even objected to Sam's choice of radio stations. Instead he seemed intrigued by Sam's driving skills, absorbing every move Sam made with a studious gaze. It unnerved Sam a little, to have Dean examine his driving abilities with such intensity, but then Dean had never been comfortable unless he was in the driver's seat. Sam suspected Dean's wounds were paining him more than he had let on, because usually the only injury that prevented Dean from driving was complete unconsciousness!

Sam parked the Impala in a side street, away from any curious eyes, although he doubted, aside from the rodent population and dozens of stray cats in the area, nobody ventured that way very often. Aside from the startled Realtor, that was, whose task it had been to try and offload the building to some unsuspecting schmuck of course, and was instead greeted by the gory murder scene. Sam speculated that finding a potential buyer, now, might take a lot longer than they had anticipated.

The warehouse was gloomy, what with all the windows blackened over with years of grime and pollution. The depot was vacant, and devoid of any furniture or equipment, or the like. The Winchesters made their way from office to office in search of the crime scene. As they passed through a corridor, Sam paused. He reached down and ran his fingers through a heavy coating of dust upon the tiled floor. He rubbed the grimy grey-ochre substance between his fingers and eventually lifted his fingers to his nose and smelt it.

"What is it?" Dean began to question. Sam's eyes darted to Dean with surprise.

"Sulfur… _what else_?" He glared at him. _What did he expect?_ Sam wondered.

"So… demon then?" Dean queried.

"Well… yeah." He replied._ Again with the stupid question? _Sam frowned to himself as he wondered if Dean was really up for this! _Obviously it was a demon!_ He had to remind himself that his brother was still on the mend…

Sam moved forwards, towards a door he hoped led to the crime scene.

The door revealed what was once a factory floor of sorts. It was as bare as the rest of the building, the only evidence of the factory ever having been used were the huge bolts protruding from the concrete floor where machinery had once been fixed. Dean made his way into the center of the vast empty room. Glaringly bright, yellow police tape, secured to a group of concrete support pylons, running in three rows down the center of the vast expanse, marked the spot better than any 'X' could have.

One of the concrete support pylons had been scorched black by an intense fire. A stark, untouched silhouette of the victim remained splayed against the column, as a shadowy reminder of the victim's final seconds of life. An intricate symbol was drawn just in front of that again on the concrete floor.

"And, I think that pretty much confirms my suspicions…" Sam muttered as he studied the sigil painted across the floor, in what was most likely blood. "I'd say it's a demon!" He muttered as he examined the unfamiliar demonic trademark. "Or some weird-assed Satanic cult…"

Dean ran his hand over the pylon, almost mesmerized by the hazy silhouette. He studied the sallow dust that now coated his fingers. More sulfur, only much heavier this time, covering the pylon itself, right where the victim would have sat. Even the dried blood on the floor beneath was intermingled with the yellow dust.

"Yeah…" Dean agreed, his voice echoing through the room, although he showed no great interest in examining the sigil, up close, for himself. He eyed the vast, cold and damp room suspiciously.

"Can't say as I recognize it." Sam remarked as he tilted his head in examination of the gory signature with an intense scowl on his brow. "I don't even know if the sigil's legit!" Sam added. "Maybe you should get a photo of it, so we can check out if it's valid."

"A what?" Dean replied, dumbfounded.

"A photo… on your cell." Sam replied. He glanced at Dean and picked up on the fact that the elder Winchester seemed edgy. "Here, give me your phone." He prompted as he strode towards his tentative brother. "I'll do it."

Dean searched his pockets until he found his cell phone and then passed it to Sam.

"I really gotta get another phone." Sam muttered to himself as he skirted the large sigil. He took a number of photos of the scorched pylon, the sigil and the large pool of blood. Dean observed him with an inquisitive gaze.

oooOOOooo

Sam explained their findings to Bobby after dinner that night. Bobby frowned as he studied the photos of the sigil on Dean's phone with equal ignorance.

"Sorry Sam, can't say as I have any idea..." Bobby admitted, although the phone's mediocre resolution and picture quality, the gloomy warehouse and the angle of the shot didn't make for an easy identification.

"You think maybe it's just a hoax, maybe it really is some psycho, satanic killer?" Sam sighed.

"I thought you said you found sulfur as well." Bobby replied.

"Yeah, we did." Sam admitted. "I guess we'd better check it out then."

"Hasn't exactly left any clues at to where he's gone though." Dean remarked.

"No…" Sam sighed. "And he doesn't apparently make any encore visits either. At least not to the scene of the crime… But, he seems to keep within the old warehouse district, in Drawly. Could be where he's hiding out. We could probably start searching each building…"

"Whoa… Just slow down." Bobby warned. "First we really gotta get a handle on just what this demon is." Bobby warned. "We've at least got this sigil to investigate. I think we've all learnt the hard way what happens when we jump in half cocked!" He glared at the brothers with an upturned eyebrow, in a blatantly accusing manner.

Sam cowered slightly and nodded with acknowledgement. They'd suffered, quite literally, on numerous occasions when they'd been caught unawares and unprepared. Sam glanced at Dean; usually the first one in the line of fire, he'd certainly suffered for their ignorance, and he was no where near 100 percent yet, certainly not up to battling another demon.

"I'm thinking we'll have to hit the library then." Sam smirked.

"The what?" Dean piped up, not looking overly enthusiastic. He'd stayed almost completely out of their discussions; however, as he had become accustomed to doing lately, he had listened intently to every word.

oooOOOooo

"I'm gonna head out and get something to eat…" Dean grumbled after glaring at the enthusiastic research buffs do their stuff. They'd been at the library for over three hours, and even though closing time was drawing near, he'd become extremely impatient. Sam wasn't quite sure why Dean had decided to go with them; he certainly hadn't opened a book, or switched on a computer. He'd amused himself for a while when a group of three young women had piled in for what ever reason, however their stay was short lived and so was his entertainment. Dean may have studied Sam's every move, every book and every web site, over his shoulder, however he had yet to make any constructive move to assist in the research.

"This'd go a lot faster if you'd give us a hand!" Sam snapped at him with irritation.

"I got a fair idea already." Dean sniggered at Sam with a level, unwavering glower of smugness. "You ain't gonna find the answer in a book! This demon's thousands of years old. You're just wasting time…"

Sam glared at him as he wondered if Dean's arrogant, asshole alter ego was making another appearance. He wasn't quite himself yet, hadn't been since he'd survived the Crossroad Demon's deal. He was still very much Hr. Hyde, although Dean had managed, for the most part to keep his egotistical, short-tempered, new-self under check. However, he had his moments when his snide, condescending remarks and egotistical, haughty attitude would needle itself under Sam's skin like a malicious, flesh-eating parasite. And with the wicked glimmer in Dean's conceited, confident smirk, Sam could feel another infestation moment coming.

"What?" Sam demanded angrily.

Bobby could feel the thick, choking haze of irritation descend upon them. He knew he had to intercede quickly, if he didn't, he'd end up the sacrificial lamb in the middle of their head clashing. It was far better if he jumped in, head first, as arbitrator.

"Honestly Sam, Dean might be right." Bobby sighed. Not that he wanted to intentionally side with Dean, in fact, if he could find grounds for it, he'd obstinately object Dean's point 'til the cows came home. But, Dean was indisputably right. Bobby had found dozens of demons and sigils that almost fit the bill, and yet no one was a definite contender. In reality he'd found nothing! "You actually find anything yet?" He queried Sam.

Sam was still on the verge of fuming. He begrudgingly shook his head. "No, not really." He refused to gaze at his brother.

"Dean?" Bobby queried, eager to hear what he may have to say.

"It's old…" Dean replied. "Pre-dates Christ even… used to like to… _play…_ in Jordan, Egypt, Palestine…"

"Huh? Palestine?" Sam grunted.

"Palestine… it's now Israel…" Dean clarified, smirking condescendingly.

"Yeah, I know." Sam grunted back. "Birthplace of Christ."

"Only he's _Pre_-Christ! It's the Sigil of Devorel." He stated. "Or, more precisely, Devoratus."

"Who?" Sam's eyes flashed at Dean in query. "Who's De-vor-atus?" He snarked with disbelieving irritation. He could hardly swallow Dean's haughty proclamation as fact, not when he hadn't even glanced at a book or a computer…

Sam's fingers tapped away furiously on his laptop, searching for the names Dean had mentioned. He tried a number of spelling variations until he finally found a combination that provided a link. His face revealed his shock at finding a brief reference made to a demon venerated as Devoratus, on an obscure web site Sam had never seen before. Even more confounding, was that a photo of his sigil bore a startling resemblance to the one found at the warehouse.

"Yeah… ok. It could be this... Devoratus." He conceded, still not sure if he could trust the information given on the unproven, unsubstantiated web site. As far as Sam was concerned the site read more like a wannabe demonic 'My Space' than anything resembling authentic facts. Even so, he could see how Dean could be duped by the site, if this was in fact where he had gleaned his information from.

"What does it say?" Bobby urged Sam.

"Honestly, I think its all B.S.!" Sam objected. "It's gotta be some kind of hoax..."

"I'd still be interested in what it says." Bobby urged. "Better'n the nothin' we already got!"

"Fine..." Sam begrudgingly read the small amount of information mentioned on the obscure web site. "He's a _Demon of Domination and Fire, a Duke of Devils; Also known as Devorel, or The Devourer. He can conjure and control the very fires of Hell. He feeds on his own kind._ Seriously Bobby, it has a freaking post script here - Devoratus's motto or something! _'Daemon cavere meus ignis'_ I mean 'Demons beware my fire'?" Sam demanded.

"That sigil sure looks real enough!" Bobby pointed at the grainy, black and white photo displayed with the information. "Got anything on that?"

The only reference made to the photograph was the name 'Iactar'. When Sam searched the reference he found it was an ancient Jordanian city, the ruins of which had recently been uncovered. As he scrolled through the site he came across a much clearer photo of the sigil.

"Evidentially this sigil was found at an archaeological dig, a few years ago, in Iactar; it's the ruins of some long buried city in Jordan." Sam revealed. "It doesn't mention Devoratus at all though. Just that the sigil was found carved into the floor, at the base of a huge marble statue, of what looks like..." Sam paused and studied the photograph, "... a demon devouring a devil. It's believed it was a sacrificial chamber of some sort… what with the discovery of hundreds of human remains, all cremated, in the adjoining chamber... But then, the whole city is presumed to have been leveled by fire... leading some to speculate it could even be the site of Sodom or Gomorrah... Anyway, the whole place was incinerated, abandoned and buried by the desert thousands of years ago. Probably why the details are a bit sketchy… or nonexistent!" He added in his own defense.

"Wow, well that seems real enough." Bobby mused, referring to the archaeological web site.

"Yeah, so the sigil is legit, doesn't mean Devoratus is." Sam challenged.

"Oh, he's real. Actually, I think you'll find he's a power-hungry, devious 'soul digger'." Dean leaned back in his chair and smirked with confident smugness.

"A soul-digger?" Bobby queried.

"Hell's currency." Dean scowled. "And… Devoratus is probably exterminating his competition, now he's Top-side."

"And you even know this, how?" Sam demanded.

Dean was momentarily stunned into silence. He was obviously in thought for an appropriate response. "He's a _fire_ demon Sam…" He eventually explained.

Sam's tense shoulders relaxed and his face softened, slightly. _Of course he'd know; he'd know everything there was to know about every conceivable Fire Demon!_ With their life long search for Azazel; the demon who had killed their mother, _with fire_, it was only logical Dean would have scoured every remote link. For they did not learn Azazel's identity until after Dean had killed him. Fire was the one thing they knew he used, quite effectively, to execute his desires.

"Oh…" Sam backed down marginally: Too stunned by Dean's astute observations to consider a rebuttal or a dispute.

"Exactly, Samuel." Dean replied as he stood up, preparing to leave.

"Ok, but wait… Just where are you getting this info from?" Sam challenged the whole fanciful notion again. There was hardly enough information on the Internet to glean such an in-depth assumption.

Dean paused before replying, either as he contemplated a response or simply for effect.

"I _have_ been doing this for a while, Samuel." Dean snapped back. He had taken to referring to Sam as Samuel every time he became irritated. And it served as a perfect shove for Sam in the same emotional direction. "I have my sources…"

"Yeah, but…" Sam wasn't given the opportunity to continue.

"Sam." Bobby interceded. "Dean seems to be pretty spot on so far. Let him finish." Bobby nodded to Dean, urging him to continue. "Just what exactly do you mean he's exterminating his competition?"

"Other demons." Dean replied. "It's what he does. This way he gets two birds… A human soul, and a demon to devour, not to mention the race is on to seize the crown now that Azazel is… well dead. And trust me Devoratus doesn't like to bow to any demon. He wants the title!"

"He's devouring demons?" Sam was still skeptical, trying to process the information.

"I think you'll find all the victims were _possessed_." Dean replied as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his seat and turned away. "And their hearts would have been cut out."

"So if you already knew this, why didn't you just say so?" Sam demanded angrily, even he had better things to do with his time than sitting in a stuffy library with his nose buried in a pile of dusty books!

"Just wanted to see if you could work it out for yourself…" Dean muttered. "Which you obviously couldn't…" He swaggered away with a triumphant smirk plastered to his face.

Sam suddenly became aware that Dean had spent a lot of time lately, studying him, sizing him up and assessing his assumptions. And at other times it was almost as if Dean was trying to teach him the finer points… It worried Sam that maybe Dean was still in the mind set that he was going to leave him.

"If he's exterminating demons maybe we should just let him at it?" Sam muttered.

"It'd be nice, but we gotta remember the real victims are all human." Bobby replied.

"Yeah, of course." Sam nodded.

Sam and Bobby had to hastily pack their research and belongings up in order to catch him before he disappeared into the busy main street. Sam was too rushed to allow his irritation to fester, and too dumbstruck by Dean's insightfulness to really allow it to take hold. They had larger, purely demonic problems on their hands…

oooOOOooo

The night brought another fierce storm. When Sam returned from his reconnaissance task, a chilly wind fought its way into the room before he could fight to close their motel room door behind him. Little Rock was being ravaged by severe electrical storms once more.

"Ok, I got the reports." Sam informed them as he shook his soggy mane and patted the rain from his suit sleeves. "Thankfully the graveyard shift has a way of employing the half-wits."

Bobby eagerly grabbed the slightly damp file of papers from Sam's grasp and laid them out on the small dining table in their room. Dean leaned forward and ran his eye over the coroner's reports, and numerous crime scene photos.

"So, no problems then?" Bobby queried Sam.

"Didn't even have to flash my badge." Sam replied with a prizewinning smile as he removed his suit coat and joined Bobby and Dean at the table. The wanna-be coroner at the morgue had been extremely gullible and more than helpful.

"I think you're right Dean." Bobby complimented as he read the coroner's reports on the first victim, Sandeep Kalill, an eighteen year old apprenticed mechanic. "Unusually high, and unexplained, sulfur levels in his system. Same with victim number two, Dianna Papolous, just twenty…"

"That's not the only thing in common." Sam added as he studied the crime scene photos. "Same sigil."

"Wow…" Bobby sighed as he ran his hand over his stubbled chin in dismay. "So this is the last one… at the warehouse you looked at… Ayden Keller… and same thing… high levels of sulfur present in the system. Definitely sounds like a possession."

Bobby examined the photo Sam passed to him. "It's all the same sigil." Sam explained as Bobby scrutinized the image. The charred remains of Ayden Keller lay sprawled in the center of the sigil. "In what? You think it might be blood?"

"Yeah, according to this report it was Keller's own blood." Bobby replied.

"Yeah?" Sam muttered. "But why is he cutting their hearts out, and then cremating them?" He queried Dean, the apparent expert.

"I think you'll find his sigil traps the demon within, so that he can cut out the heart… _during_ cremation, before the victim dies." Dean clarified.

"What?" Sam exclaimed in awe.

Bobby hesitated to concur, before he could read the coroner's report. "Coroner seems to think the same thing. The hearts were cut out whilst the victim was still alive."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. "Why?"

"It's how he collects his souls." Dean replied.

"The souls?" Sam queried. "And their hearts?"

"You never hear the expression 'heart _and_ soul'?" Dean shrugged. "He probably eats it, to devour the soul totally."

"What?" Sam exclaimed with a clear look of revulsion.

"And the cremation?" Bobby queried, more than a little put off by the thought of the demon eating a human heart.

"It's how he consumes the demon within…" Dean replied. "He has to burn everything else away, with the fires of Hell, to reach the demon soul beneath… pretty much simultaneously… before either demon or human soul can escape."

"So he's collecting souls?" Sam queried again, his doubt plain to see.

"It's what he does _Samuel_… even you said so… Devoratus consumes his own kind!" Dean was becoming irritated. "And when did you ever meet a demon that didn't want to lay its hands on some quality human souls?"

"And just where, the hell, did you dig up this information?" Sam demanded again, as his disbelief escalated.

Dean glared at his cynical brother with measured animosity. Sam remained defiantly dubious. "Look, you have your sources, I have mine!" He snapped angrily as he left the table and grabbed himself a beer out of the fridge. "What's wrong? You have the proof in front of you, and you still don't believe me?"

"Yeah well, Dean, you _never_…" Sam began to retaliate; however Bobby caught his arm and urged him to cease fire.

Dean didn't grace Sam with a rebuttal. He simply planted himself on the couch and switched the television on; quickly flicking it through a number of channels.

Sam had to concede submission, although, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy with Dean's sudden knowledge. How much more half-cocked could they get if they had this theory all wrong?

oooOOOooo

**_Ayden Keller's Parent's Home._**

**_Little Rock_****_, ARKANSAS_****_. _**

Bobby was cautious about pushing Dean too hard. So against Dean's insistence that he was perfectly ok, Bobby had Sam draw out their investigations over a few days. Sam was still speculative over the information Dean had given, and secretly he wanted time to double check his conclusions. Not that he found anything else, to either dispute or support Dean's information. However when he informed Bobby he was heading out to question Ayden Keller's parents, Dean insisted on going too.

The low, gravelly rumble of the Impala turned more than just a few heads. With the suburban driveways lined with flashy late model cars, the Chevy was distinctly out of place.

"Keep you eyes peeled for number 52." Sam urged as they drove down the narrow street towards Ayden Keller's parents' house, listed as his next of kin.

"There…" Dean replied as they slowed down in front of a quaint red-brick, double story house. Peace returned to the street once Sam cut the engine, however eyes remained fixed on the sleek black silhouette of the Impala.

Dean's gaze turned to puzzlement as Sam reached across him and popped the glove compartment open. He pulled out a small cigar box from its depths and rummaged through the cards and wallets within. After a careful search he smiled contently as he passed Dean a black leather I.D. wallet. Dean flipped it open and studied the contents.

"Agent Book?" Dean queried. "What's this?" He asked as he turned the FBI badge around in his grasp.

"Your I.D. Dean…" Sam quaffed. "You don't expect them to talk to us otherwise, do you?" Sam speculated that he was dragging Dean into something he really wasn't ready for. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"Yeah… why shouldn't I be?" Dean seemed confused to say the least. His scowling green eyes revealed his bewilderment as his gaze practically bore a hole through the badge.

"Seriously, if you'd rather wait in the car…" Sam offered.

"What?" Dean's stare moved to Sam. "No." He muttered unconvincingly. Sam had actually dressed him in a suit for the occasion so it would be a pity not to play on.

"Ok… Good. I'm Special Agent Williams… remember?" Sam queried as he got out of the car. It was Dean, after all, who had forged the badges in the first place. However, judging by Dean's blank expression, he didn't seem to recall the details. "Just let me do all the talking then, ok?"

"Ok." Dean replied as he eased himself out of the car. He didn't seem any closer to convincing Sam of his readiness. With yet another loss of recollection, as far as Sam was concerned, Dean had definitely had his memory scrambled! Even so, Sam was still impressed by his, possibly, _instinctual_ ability to assume some kind of persona for the task. As he emerged from the car Dean straightened his tie, ensuring it hung correctly and patted the suit lapels down with a meticulous precision. He actually seemed comfortable in the suit for a change. Dean had already chosen to abandon the cane, along with the sling for his arm; it would have been a pity to detract from the pleasing lines of the well tailored ensemble of the suit. He swaggered towards the house with an almost normal, confident gait.

As the brothers alighted the vehicle curious eyes followed the passage of the two neatly dressed men, both in dark suits and ties, as they walked towards the front door of number 52. It was Ayden Keller's home and all in the street and surrounding neighborhood knew of the man's murder.

An older man answered the door. He peered at the brothers through a mere crack in the door. "What?" He exclaimed bluntly.

"Mr. Keller?" Sam queried.

"What do you want?" He demanded gruffly.

"Sorry to disturb you, I'm Agent Williams; this is my partner Agent Book, FBI." Sam introduced as he flashed his badge. Dean mimicked Sam's deception and proceeded to do the same, however his flip of the wallet sleeve and the revealing of his badge was noticeably stilted and awkward.

"FBI?" Mr. Keller exclaimed with a tentative smile. "You find who killed my boy?" He queried with a vengeful hope.

"No, Mr. Keller, I'm sorry, we haven't." Sam stammered. "We've just come to ask you a few questions…"

"What?" Peter Keller queried defensively. "Again? Why? What else can we possibly tell you?" He wasn't apparently in the mood for any more questions. He wanted answers. "Didn't those other two ask enough?"

Peter Keller glared at the two young men at his door, and scrutinized them intensely, taking note of Dean's slightly hunched stance and the still visible gash across his brow. Something about Dean's appearance unnerved the man and he maintained his speculative glare. The other, Williams, seemed so young and fresh faced: As far as Peter Keller was concerned his son's murder had suddenly been left to a rookie and damaged goods. The FBI certainly didn't seem to be taking things seriously any more. He could only ponder that the other, more seasoned agents, who had already questioned him, had seemed so much more professional in their attitude and approach. He wondered what had happened to them.

Sam was momentarily stumped. _Of course the FBI had already gotten involved_!

"We're here to investigate a possible connection to another case." He replied coolly, having attained his hunter's mojo again. His face remained blank and devoid of any expression. "We've been working a case in Mississippi; a few murders last year..." Sam elaborated, hoping it was enough to entice Mr. Keller, whilst giving him the opportunity to question him further. "We were hoping to find out if there could be a connection."

Peter's attentions returned to Sam. _More murders?_ He suddenly wondered too, if there was any connection, and why the FBI hadn't already investigated it. Maybe he could spare them a few minutes after all, seeing as they had some other, additional knowledge and theories… He had to. He'd do anything to find out who'd so savagely killed his only son.

He nodded tentatively as he opened the door for them to enter. Mrs. Keller stood some feet behind him, half way up the hall. Judging by her hap-hazard appearance she was in total devastation at the loss of their son.

"What, more suits?" A younger woman demanded from the top of the stairs.

"They're just here to ask a few more questions, Monie." Peter replied as he motioned to the Winchesters to enter the front sitting room.

"You got his shoe size, favorite food and damned blood type already, what more can you possibly need to know?" She demanded.

"Simone!" Mrs. Keller snapped hoarsely. "Please, this is so, so hard as it is, please, behave yourself."

"We were just wondering if you could shed some light on Ayden's movements recently." Sam began once they were seated; fishing for their kind of evidence was always precariously difficult. They were already reasonably confident Ayden had been possessed, what they really needed to know was how, or where and when he may have come in contact with Devoratus.

"They'd be the same movements we already told your mob, would they?" Peter snapped angrily.

"Well, yes." Sam admitted. "I'd like to hear it from you, and have the opportunity to perhaps delve into it further." He justified.

"Oh…" Mr. Keller seemed appeased. "Like Joan and I said already, we really hadn't seen much of him: He's been studying a lot… Ayden was studying Modern Literature over at John Grand's. When he wasn't studying, he and… Elise had been seeing a fair bit of each other." His face gave a disapproving scowl at the girl's mention.

"I'd say!" Simone spat out.

Simone fit the pissed off, rebellious teenager image to a T. Obviously a natural blond, she had dyed her hair almost jet black. Her clothes were a disheveled Goth-like, street-fashion, and her make-up heavy and bold. The only indication that she had any sorrow for her brother's death was a strained red haze to her eyes, like she'd spent hours crying. Most probably in secret, Sam presumed.

"And Elise is?" Sam probed.

"Elise is… was… Ayden's girlfriend." Joan replied, passing him a nearby photo of the couple, in much happier times. Elise was a plain, but pleasant looking girl, with neat, light brown hair and hazel eyes. She seemed a little on the shy side if her timid smile and down-cast eyes were any reflection.

"The heartless slut!" Simone declared.

Sam was snapped out of his observations. "Huh?"

"Monie!" Joan snapped abruptly, noticeably embarrassed. "Now's not the time." She leaned towards Sam and whispered softly to him. "Simone and Elise have had a few issues lately."

Sam let the comment slide, for the time being. However several questions and answers later, the Winchester brothers had ascertained no further information, to that which they had already gleaned from the coroner's reports, newspaper articles and Internet gossip. Drawing information out of Ayden's cocooned parents was about as successful as pulling teeth from a duck. If they suspected anything was up with their son, they gave him no indications.

"So…" Mr. Keller queried hesitantly when Sam's line of questions had dried up. "Is it the same?"

"The same?" Sam queried briefly.

"As the murders… in Mississippi?" He clarified.

"In Mississippi?" Sam faltered. "Oh… maybe… Similar, but I'm not sure just yet." Sam couldn't bring himself to get their hopes up. "We still have a lot of ground work to cover."

Peter and Joan's faces dropped. They needed just the smallest tendrils of hope that their son's murder would be avenged…

"I promise we'll do everything in our power to find who did this." He consoled.

Shortly there after, the Winchesters thanked the Kellers for their assistance, although they came away none the wiser as to how to find Devoratus. Sam asked Simone to see them out.

"Is there anything else we should know?" Sam queried her as they were leaving. They paused on the porch, and she gazed out across the street. "About Ayden?"

"I dunno." Simone shrugged her shoulders, as her deep blue eyes scrutinized the timber decking of the porch floor. "He's just… 'was'… just my stupid brother. Stupid dumb-ass got himself killed. What else do you need to know?"

Dean gave a soft 'humph' at her blunt statement. Sam gave him a slight glare, wondering if the same thoughts had passed through Dean's mind after Jake had wielded him a fatal knife stab, so long ago at Cold Oak.

Dean glared at the girl, scrutinizing her with such concentration Sam could have sworn he was spying right into her soul. She squirmed uncomfortably by Sam's side with the intense examination.

"Give me a second alone with her, would you Dean?" Sam whispered to him. Sam motioned for Dean to return to the Impala, passing him the keys.

Sam and Simone's gaze followed him as he hobbled, only slightly, down the few steps to the garden path.

"Doesn't say much, does he?" Simone reflected quietly.

"No." Sam replied, Dean had been a lot quieter than normal. But at least he wasn't sticking his foot in it, like usual, with some insensitive remark, or obviously stupid question…

"Don't you find it a bit creepy?" She queried.

"What?" Sam pondered her question.

"The way he just stares?" She clarified.

"Oh? Does he?" Sam hadn't taken note of Dean's actions; he'd been too busy scrutinizing the Kellers for answers. He studied Dean momentarily, as he sat impatiently in the car, staring back at them…

Sam's gaze eventually moved to Simone's profile as she leaned on the brick balustrade on her elbows. Her short cropped, badly dyed, black hair hung in limp tendrils about her pale face. She had a number of earrings, including one through her nose and another through her eyebrow and a deep purple wisp of color peeked out from beneath her shirt collar, a tattoo of some sort. There was anger and frustration in the way she pursed her mouth shut, fearful of letting her deepest emotions loose. Sam recognized the look. She was angry at her brother for being dead, for leaving her alone in the world, even though it was, in no way, his fault. Sam understood the sentiment.

_Definitely the rebellious sibling._Sam mused to himself. "I take it you and Ayden didn't get along?" He baited.

She shrugged her shoulders again, as she turned to face him. "Naa… He was alright I suppose. Always thought he could run my life though… like he was my bloody keeper!"

Sam smirked to himself, turning slightly so that she could catch his expression of familiarity. Ayden obviously hadn't been as vigilant as Dean was, because Dean would have kicked his ass all the way into Sunday if he'd ever dared to dress all Goth-like, or get tattooed, or pierced…

"I know what you mean." Sam consoled. "I've got an older brother myself."

She smiled briefly in recognition, her defenses lowered slightly. Sam had always had a knack for infiltrating peoples' defenses, gaining their trust with a simple smile and a solemn gaze. She melted to his charm…

"Why would anyone do that to him?" She whispered. "Why?"

"I don't know." Sam replied. "There are some real monsters out there." In that respect he wasn't lying.

She nodded again.

"You know something though, don't you? That might help?" He probed. He figured she was still there with him for a reason; she had only needed to see them to the door. But there was something, Sam sensed, that she was hesitantly compelled to reveal. "About Ayden?"

She gulped nervously, and chewed on her lip before answering. She nodded ever so slightly before she whispered in response. "I think something must have happened, 'cause he wasn't…" She stammered. "He wasn't Ayde anymore. It was like he was a stranger." She admitted.

Sam nodded and thought silently to himself. _'Demon possession will do that to you.'_

"When did he change?" Sam queried.

"About a month ago." Simone replied as she twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. Her black-lacquered finger nails were chipped and neglected, bitten almost to the bone. Her gaze remained glued to her black, polished army boots. A single tear rolled down her pale cheek and dripped to the floor.

"Do you know what happen?" Sam continued.

She shrugged again, glancing away as she wiped the moisture away. "No… I don't know. He and Elise, they just both changed…"

"Elise too?" Sam probed.

"Yeah!" Simone nodded. "And if anyone's been acting really weird lately, it's her! If you told me that she… that she… did it… I'd probably believe you!"

"You think Elise killed Ayden?" Sam queried eagerly.

"The way she's been acting lately, she could have." Simone sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "But no… She and Ayden were all over each other like a rash! They were so into each other they really _were_ joined at the hips… if ya know what I mean; day and night, any chance they got!" She peered at Sam briefly as she tilted her head slightly and asked, "you do know what I mean, right?"

"Umm, yeah." Sam nodded. "Joined at the hips… and this makes you think she could kill him, why?"

"Look, no, I don't think she could…" Simone admitted, realizing she'd implicated Elise through spite, when she hadn't actually intended to. "She wouldn't kill him… well not the way… whoever did it, was a _real sick bastard_…"

"So Elise wasn't a _sick bastard_?" Sam probed with a hint of humor. She smiled briefly at his jibe.

"No…" She admitted, rolling her eyes as if Sam had literally twisted her arm into revealing her secrets. "Maybe a little… But she went weird… really weird. I mean way weirder than Ayde. She used to be such a self confessed, goody-two-shoes, 100 percent prissy… the whole 'no sex before marriage' stuff, didn't drink, didn't do anything! How Ayden could ever dig her, I'll never figure out. But then a few weeks ago, bang! And then more banging, and then some more…"

"Yeah… I got the whole sex bit." Sam replied.

"Try sexual revolution!" Simone scoffed.

"Yeah, ok. But I think you've lost me here." He admitted. "You do, or you don't, think Elise had anything to do with what happened to Ayden?"

"No, I'm sure she didn't…" Simone replied, regretting her earlier insinuation. "It's just that Elise used to be all lovey-dovey, you know, really nice in a _really_sickening kinda way. We used to… well we kinda got along… she never judged me, or dissed me. She was always really nice to me… really decent and respectful; even though I'm sure she didn't condone anything about me... A few weeks ago she went all weird. Went all bitch and nasty like; like she had a split personality or somethin'. We didn't see much of them after that, except when mom and dad were out and they, you know… And Ayden sure seemed to dig the new slutty, whore-like Elise."

"But they never mentioned what may have happened?" Sam queried.

"No. I tried to ask Ayden, but he just… he ignored me. She wouldn't talk to me. Not anymore!" Simone spat with animosity. "She snubbed me right off! Even shut mom and dad out… I can't believe they asked her to speak at the funeral!"

"Why?" Sam asked with curiosity.

"Cause of… after what happened to Ayden… she didn't even… not one word… didn't even cry." Simone snarled. "She couldn't care less. I heard she was out at Maxi's, of all places, a couple of nights ago, sleazing on any bloke she could get her hands on."

"So you don't know what happened a few weeks ago?" Sam probed. "To make them change?"

She shook her head. "Who knows? It was like they had flipped a switch … They went out to 'La Spot Café' like they used to do most Saturday nights; you know, to chat and talk and… chat I suppose, cause they never did anything else. Only… something must have happened, they musta got themselves into some kinda shit!" Simone replied.

"Shit?" Sam queried.

"Look, I really don't know what, but don't get me wrong… I do know, it wasn't drugs or anything, I swear! Ayden would never do that kinda thing… and trust me the old Elise would never, ever… I don't think she ever even stood close enough to a smoker to inhale passively! But, I dunno what happened, but the next day they were both acting all weird: Like they were someone else altogether. They both turned nasty like. He and Elise just seemed to be so different. And it was like nobody else mattered anymore, but them."

"Hmm." Sam contemplated, the scenario sounded kind of like Dean… But, obviously in this case a demon was involved somehow. He wondered if Elise could possibly be possessed by Devoratus himself. "Do you know where I can find Elise?"

"I suppose…" Simone replied. "Elise Dodd… She's studying Art History over at John Grand's, she lives just a few blocks away… Apartment 2B, 125 East Grand Boulevard. She shares with a few girls from college."

oooOOOooo

**_I apologize for the length of this fic, it kind of got away from me. The demon chase was initially intended only as a brief backdrop for what was happening to Dean. But then it grew a life of its own, with a story to be told… So please persist, there really is a much greater story that is lurking in the darkest shadows, as yet to be told. Already tendrils of evil are entangling the unsuspecting hunters! I've laid a few clues, I wonder if anyone has picked up on them as yet?_**

**_Please Read and Review, I'd love to know if anyone has persisted this far, and what you may think. _**


	4. Chapter 3

_**Hightop Motel,**_

_**Little Rock, ARKANSAS. **_

"Even if she isn't this Devoratus, it sounds like, for pretty damned sure, that she's possessed, and that means she's a demon!" Bobby warned the brothers.

They had explained their latest information to the seasoned hunter. It seemed, at the moment Elise Dodd was their only lead. Both the Winchester brothers were confident she was a demon, possibly even Devoratus himself… or herself.

"Isn't that exactly why we have to find her?" Dean exclaimed.

"That's exactly why you have to be careful!" Bobby snapped at Dean. He'd certainly healed well enough, surprisingly well - physically. With less than two weeks having expired after the elder Winchester's tangle with Kalfu, the Hell Hounds and Hell itself, Dean's physical condition had improved at the rate of knots. Even so, Bobby was still hesitant at the suggestion they search for Elise, or more precisely, a demon. Fred had removed Dean's sutures, and with flesh and muscle well trained in healing, Dean was almost given a clean bill of health. 'Quite miraculous' Fred had commented at how well Dean's wounds had healed. His busted collar bone hardly hindered him at all, and although his leg still bothered him, Dean had now ceased to use the cane. But even Bobby knew that didn't mean he was up to tracking down a potentially brutal and savage demon or two... There was still something a bit off with the hunter.

It was almost unnerving that Dean's demeanor had definitely improved. His irritations and frustrations were now focused on the demon instead and apparently in his determination to exterminate their latest foe. In fact Bobby was now concerned Dean had taken far too much interest in tracking down their latest quarry. But then even Bobby relished the challenges of a new hunt. Both Sam and Bobby were undeniably pleased by Dean's zealous eagerness to track down the demon responsible for the murders.

Dean frowned with his usual distain of late. He certainly has issues with being undermined. Bobby knew that he was still caught up in his pseudo-fatherly, protector mode, which, considering what Dean had been through, considering what they had _all _endured just a couple of weeks ago, he thought it was reasonable… and then conceded that perhaps he was being a smidge 'over-protective' at that.

"You can't just go charging in… you'd better take these…" Bobby offered them a couple of small leather pouches.

"What are they?" Sam queried. "Ruby's Hex bags?"

"Yeah…" Bobby smiled. "If they're the real deal, and I think they might be, hopefully they'll cloak your presence from this Devoratus. Give you a chance to sneak up on him, or her."

"Thanks Bobby." Sam smiled, passing Dean one of the bags. Dean raised a doubtful eyebrow, and grumbled something along the lines of _'damned witch-whore… conniving bitch… cheap, parlor tricks…'_ under his breath, however resolved, none-the-less, to tuck the protection bag into one of his jacket pockets.

"And… you'd better take the Colt." Bobby urged, retrieving the prized weapon from the depths of his weapon's bag.

"Yeah, we'll definitely need it..." Sam acknowledged.

Bobby dove straight back into his weapon's bag, however his demeanor swiftly soured. "Damn it!" Bobby cursed, as he rummaged further into the depths of his duffle, in search of more ammunition for the Colt. "I gotta start smelting down some more silverware!" He sighed when he came up empty handed. "You boys've been going through ammo like the damned thing was a machinegun!"

"Actually I think that was Ruby..." Sam muttered. He briefly lamented their unlikely ally, it was the first time he'd pondered her fate since picking up the Demon's trail. When the Crossroad Demon's Hell Hounds had come for Dean, she was the only one who could see the beasts, aside from Dean, that was. With Dean injured they'd all relied on her to exterminate the dogs of Hell, and there had been many. And the Colt had reliably brought them and eventually even Kalfu down as well. Ruby's plan to save Dean had worked. Although with every passing day, with no word from the demoness, the more Sam concluded she had sacrificed herself, in an attempt to fulfill her promise to save Dean. Sam's anguish was plain to see, even if only briefly.

"She knew what she was getting herself into." Bobby consoled.

"Damned witch-whore got what she deserved!" Dean snapped angrily, apparently he never could bring himself to trust a demon, not even Ruby who had apparently done nothing but try and help him.

Sam glared at Dean's ungrateful remark. "You know what…" He began to retort with an angry rebuttal brewing, his fists clenching in resentment.

"Yeah! We have more important things at hand!" Bobby snapped at the brothers angrily, boldly stepping between the two before fists started flying. "Like a murdering demon, hell, maybe even a number of 'em!"

Sam and Dean glared at each other briefly, however tensions remained strained.

"Boys!" Bobby demanded their attentions. "I think we need to focus here!"

Sam caved first, sucking back his annoyance with his brother, again. It seamed it was all he did lately; forgive Dean his conceited, arrogant, self-satisfying ways. He nodded his head, as his attention shifted back to Bobby.

"All I got is one bullet left!" Bobby stated, hoping to get the Winchesters to refocus on the task at hand. "I gotta tell you I'm not real keen on lettin' you boys go after this demon… _these_ demons even… without some kinda protection!"

"Only need one bullet!" Dean sneered.

As much as Sam knew he was correct, it just didn't seem right. Not after all they'd been through; after all they'd risked; to have it balance on one bullet. Dean had been damned lucky to have killed Azazel with just one bullet left… and he still wasn't sure just how he, himself, had managed to kill Kalfu with the same.

"Yeah, only there may be more than one demon…" Sam rebuked with measured spitefulness at Dean's expense. Besides, luck just wasn't something that generally stood on the side of the Winchesters, and pushing it once more… Then he suddenly realized. "Actually… I think I've still got extra shells in my jacket pocket…" he muttered.

Sam's hunter instincts prevailed. He rummaged in his duffle until he found what he was looking for; his jacket in question. It was still blood stained, with Dean's blood, and his, from the night when Kalfu had almost killed Dean. He'd shoved it so deep into the depths of his duffle he'd completely forgotten about it. He should really have tossed it already, what with all the rips and tears from the shattered stained-glass window, and the rock salt blast, it was hardly worth the effort of trying to clean it. Sam lamented briefly on the loss of another article of clothing, and then set about retrieving the remaining bullets for the Colt. He surprised even himself when instead of pulling out Bobby's specially cast and engraved silver bullets, he found Dean's amulet and ring. When Dean had disappeared - took off to die - he'd left them behind, for Sam to keep. And Sam had kept them, in his jacket pocket, but just for safe keeping; _close to his heart_ – although, right now, he'd never admit that aloud.

"Shit…" Sam remarked. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about these yet." Sam turned slowly to apologize to Dean for having forgotten about his brother's prized items.

"What?" Dean queried. "What is it?"

Sam held out his hand and presented Dean with his belongings. Dean gazed at his ring and amulet with a look of mystification. "What… Umm…" Dean muttered.

"You left them… back in Dodge… remember?" Sam explained, finding his brother's confusion the perfect antidote to their previous tension. More and more Dean was revealing small black holes in his memory. Sam consoled himself with Fred's reassurances that it was common with a head injury, and more than likely Dean's memory would eventually return, hopefully intact. Not having suffered any other symptoms or ailments, Fred reassured both Sam and Bobby, Dean's apparent selective amnesia could also be psychosomatic. Even so, with his physical injuries having mended so well, Sam had to remind himself that Dean still wasn't fully healed. He was amazed with just what Dean would black out. Not that they'd spent much time reminiscing; in fact both Sam and Bobby had avoided it, because Dean quickly became agitated every time his memory loss was made evident. Mostly it was just little things, _and some rather major memories_… names, places, and usually incidents involving their past. Obviously Dean's subconscious was hiding from their lives and anything to do with their supernatural activities, and the amnesia wasn't quite prepared to release its captive bag of past memories, just yet. Although Sam had to admit Dean wasn't always the most reliable means of recall at the best of times. But forgetting about his amulet and ring, that was a five-star doozie!

Dean cautiously took the items from Sam and inspected them. It took a while before he actually looped his amulet over his head. However he had to study each finger before finding the pale indentation on the ring's rightful digit.

Both Bobby and Sam mused on Dean's unusual behavior. But when Dean spied their dazed expressions he immediately cast them a glare of distain. Bobby jumped into avoidance mode, distracting all concerned with the task at hand. They hadn't time for Dean to perform an encore performance of his Mr. Hyde act...

"You find those shells, Sam?" He queried quickly.

Sam hopped into action, shoving his hand into the remaining jacket pockets until he withdrew a half-dozen, or so, of Bobby's specially cast, blessed and charmed silver cartridges. "Yeah…" he muttered.

Bobby half smiled with relief as he offered the demon-slaying pistol to Sam, now fully loaded, together with the few remaining shells that remained. Sam nodded to Bobby, and thankfully shoved the Colt into his waistband. It was a subliminal message on Bobby's part, to Sam, that he should take the reigns on this job, and play protector over Dean. And thankfully the inference had gone unnoticed by Dean, usually the one who automatically assumed the role of leader in their hunts.

oooOOOooo

_**Elise Dodd's Apartment,**_

_**Little Rock, ARKANSAS. **_

"Here!" The elder Winchester exclaimed as the brothers cruised down East Grand Boulevard.

"Actually, it's the next building…" Sam replied as he continued past the white-washed apartment building.

"No!" Dean urged. "Down here!" He pointed to a narrow alley that ran between the two buildings. He peered out of the car at the neat row of windows on the second story of the 125 East Grand Boulevard Apartments.

Even before Sam parked the Impala he had taken note of Dean's impatience. The elder Winchester was out of the car before the engine had time to wind down, and headed off in a decent jog. For a guy, who only a week ago hobbled around like a cripple, Dean moved remarkably well, his limp only just noticeable. He made straight for a side entrance, most likely only ever used by maintenance and, if ever, by a few residents.

Dean found the heavy, reinforced door securely locked, and seemed almost intent on shouldering it open with brute force. Sam stopped him before he had a chance to reinjure himself. "How about I just pick the lock?" He suggested.

"Oh?" Dean muttered. "Ok."

"Bobby'd have our hides if you go and bust something again!" Sam snarked, tapping Dean aside as he checked the door for himself. "And I don't mean the door…"

"What? I'm fine!" He retorted in his own defense. Dean moved aside and watched Sam demonstrate his craft.

"Course you are… But this door isn't about to budge, no matter how hard to hit it! So, tell me Dean, what the hell were you trying to do?" Sam queried as he set about picking the lock.

"What?" Dean replied.

"Trying to prove something?" He smiled victoriously as the lock released. "Like that you're invincible or something? Some kinda superman?" Sam opened the door with an exaggerated flourish. "You climbed outta Hell, so now you can do anything?"

"What?" Dean glared at him, without a further response. He frowned at Sam then swiftly pushed past him as he moved through the door. Sam shook his head in mock defeat. The old Dean would have taken the jibe for what it was; a low blow, admittedly, but nothing more than a ribbing, certainly nothing warranting more than one of Dean's arrogant, conceited retorts in agreement with Sam's rash statement. But then their sibling rivalry, it would seem, had been exterminated.

Sam followed his brother into the building. The door way led to a dimly lit corridor, crowded with a row of trash cans, boxes, a couple of bicycles and a mop and bucket.

"Ok… let me have it." Dean demanded when he turned back towards Sam.

"What?" Sam queried.

"The Colt." Dean insisted. "Let me have it."

"Umm… I don't think so." Sam began to object, Dean still wasn't 100 percent, and he figured it was probably safer if he held on to it himself. Although it was almost a relief that he'd asked for it; the old Dean would never have let Bobby give it to Sam in the first place.

Dean almost stomped with irritation. "Just give it to me!" He snapped angrily.

"You sure?" Sam queried, turning his head only slightly to gaze at his brother. _Still snappy after his 'invincible' jibe_, Sam suspected.

"Yeah! Now give it to me!" Dean demanded with his hand out stretched.

"Ok…" Sam conceded. Even he had to admit, Dean generally was the better shot. For all intense purposes, he seemed just fine physically, so really there was no reason not to. And Dean always took the lead, it was logical he'd want to now…

Dean ran his fingers over the exquisite workmanship. It was as if it was the first time he'd ever laid eyes on the revolver. Even as he caressed the weapon in his hands he could feel its power. It was cold and hard in his grasp, and yet it sent a slight electrical, tingling sensation searing through his fingers. It truly was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship.

"You comin'?" Sam demanded as he moved down the corridor. Dean was momentarily mesmerized. He nodded and followed close behind.

As the brothers moved further into the corridor they reached a small alcove. Dean moved from Sam's side and began to leap up a gloomy, confined stairwell, so narrow the brothers had to ascend in single file. Dean carried himself up the flight of stairs swiftly; in fact he almost raced up them in his eagerness. Sam had to up his own pace simply to keep up with him. Elise's apartment was on the second floor.

"Wait…" Sam warned when he caught up to him at the top of a small landing. "We can't just go charging in there!"

"Why not?" Dean queried eagerly.

"You forget that she's probably possessed? Like, she's a _demon_?" Sam exclaimed, a little perturbed by Dean's casual attitude.

"Yeah… isn't that exactly why we have the Colt?" Dean demanded.

"Even so, she shares her apartment with other girls!" Sam replied. "And we don't know for sure if they're possessed as well… or innocent bystanders!"

"One way to find out!" Dean swaggered off.

"Dean… you're not invincible!" Sam stalked after him.

Elise's apartment lay at the end of a long passageway. When a number of hysterical, if abrupt, screams erupted from the same vicinity Sam and Dean sprang into action. They were still some distance away, and Dean sped past Sam in his eagerness, almost shoving the younger to the ground as he bruised past him.

Dean made fast ground to the apartment, his limp certainly hadn't slowed him down any. He paused and glanced back at Sam with a mischievous smirk. Sam was aghast and completely unable to prevent Dean from hastily kicking the door in. The elder Winchester splintered the door jam, and cracked the door nearly clean in two as he broke in. He burst into the apartment, with the Colt at the ready.

"Damn it Dean!" Sam scolded as he leapt through the open doorway after him, half expecting Dean to be at the demon's mercy. Instead he was greeted with a horrific scene.

Two young women lay on the ground, in the middle of the small living area, their chests ripped open. Their deaths had been swift, if their dazed, open eyes were any measure. One would have expected far more blood, had their hearts not been ripped out, and unable to pump the vital fluid from their bodies. Sam paused briefly at the sight, in horrified awe of the gore and savagery of the murders. They had not been cremated, so Sam could only assume they were entirely human.

"Dean?" He suddenly realized his brother wasn't there. Sam sprang from one room to the next as he searched the apartment, until he came to one of the bedrooms. The window was open, leading out to the fire escape.

"Shit!" he exclaimed angrily as he poked his head out through the curtains. Dean was almost already down the last ladder to the ground.

"Get the car!" Dean yelled as he pointed further down the alley.

Sam peered to where Dean had indicated, although he saw nothing. His first instincts were to pounce to Dean's side, only he trusted Dean that they'd need the car to take chase. He sped out of the apartment, ploughing through a number of horrified residents in his haste.

"Somebody call 911!" He advised as he shuffled past the dismayed onlookers, most of who looked like other college students. He was eager to escape before anyone thought to hold him accountable…

He flew back down the stairs, leaping down by three's and fours. His heart hardly had time to take a beat before he had thrown himself into the Impala and forced the key into her ignition.

The faithful Chevy leapt into life as Sam tore through the alley towards the fire escape. He almost side-swiped Dean as he sprinted in front of him, further down the alley, in his hasty 'futile on foot' pursuit, of the demon. Sam barely even stopped the car, as Dean leapt into the passenger seat. The wheels burnt rubber as he accelerated towards a connecting lane way.

"Down there!" Dean shouted as he slammed the door closed hastily. "Right!"

Sam hung on the steering wheel as they careened around the sharp bend, tossing both brothers into each other, and across the seat.

"Where the hell are we going?" Sam demanded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"After Devoratus." Dean retorted.

"Great! Just what the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded.

"Faster!" Dean ordered in reply, as they exploded out of the alley and hooked a right onto the main street. "Unless you wanna loose him! Why you so interested in what I'm thinking lately?"

"You coulda got yourself killed!" Sam reprimanded as he accelerated.

"Never even close!" Dean snapped back in his own defense. "Right!" He suddenly bellowed as he practically leaned out of the car in his impatience.

"The hell you weren't!" Sam refuted angrily. He was piloting blind, his total faith in Dean as navigator.

"FASTER! Damn it!" Dean urged. "Those Hex bags actually seem to work… He didn't even see me!" He informed him.

"Where now?" Sam demanded as they came to a crossroad. "Hang on… He?" He queried almost braking to a stop.

"Huh?" Dean frowned. "Don't stop! That way!" Dean pointed to his left.

"You said 'He'!" Sam clarified.

"Yeah Devoratus, he took the girl. Left, that way!" Dean pointed across Sam's line of sight. "Quick, down there!"

"Where?" Sam demanded. "Do you even know where, the hell, we are we going?"

"He must be taking her to Drawly." Dean replied, his eyes scouring the road for their next turn.

"How do you know? I can't even see who we're chasing!" Sam objected.

"He's there…" Dean scowled with irritation at Sam's constant, demeaning objections and demands.

"So what, we're gonna search each and every warehouse?" Sam demanded in awe, because as far as he could tell they were as good as chasing a ghost. He hadn't even caught a glimpse of the demon.

"If you got any better ideas, by all means…" Dean tilted his head in demand. "But this may be our only chance to find Devoratus…"

"Fine!" Sam sighed as he took another bend in the road. "If Bobby ever finds out…"

"Who even gives a shit? Damned over-protective, old nurse-maid!" Dean muttered in irritation. "I can look after myself… can't you?"

"Dean he just…" Sam muttered.

"Right!" Dean yelled at him, almost yanking the wheel from Sam's hands in his eagerness. "Down there!"

Sam hoped Dean's constant, abrupt and rapid directions were indeed correct, because he had no idea where they were heading, or who, or what they were following, if anything at all. However, it wasn't long before Sam realized they had entered the Drawly warehouse district and he knew somehow Dean had got it right. With the distinct lack of traffic in the area, they scoured the silent warehouses for any signs of Devoratus.

"There!" Dean snapped as they passed by another abandoned factory, this one a little more decrepit than the last. However it was barely differentiable from the last, or the next; they all began to look the same.

"Where?" Sam queried, dumbfounded.

"Back there!" Dean urged. "The blue door…"

Sam frowned at Dean suddenly. "You sure?"

"Yeah… absolutely." Dean gazed back at Sam with was steely confidence, challenging Sam to query him again.

Sam attempted to examine the dilapidated building that Dean had indicated; 'Hank and Forder Plastics' according to a ramshackle sign above the equally neglected entry door. Sam slowed the Impala down and pulled into an alcove a few buildings down.

Dean alighted the car before Sam had a chance to query his assumption any further.

"You wanna take a moment before you go running in half cocked again?" He snapped at his brother grabbing Dean's arm before he could make a swift beeline towards the warehouse.

"What?" He snapped back at Sam with clear irritation, shaking his limb free from Sam's grasp.

"Well I'm gonna at least grab a few things, might come in handy…" Sam retorted as he opened the car boot. He reached for his shotgun, and a handful of rock salt cartridges, as he loaded up on weapons from the Impala's secret boot-compartment. With their hasty pursuit a number of their weapons had been dislodged from their rightful place, and now lay in a disorderly heap to one side of the boot. He had to rummage through the disarray in search of a bottle of holy water and his journal. He figured he'd need the exorcism ritual for this one...

Dean seemed in awe of the trunk's contents, or the mess…

"You still got your Hex bag?" Sam queried as he tapped his own pocket to confirm his remained secure.

"Yeah…" Dean nodded, pulling the top of the bag from his jacket pocket as proof.

"Good… You want anything else?" Sam asked him.

"No. I'm good to go." Dean replied with a confident smirk. "You gonna read to him?" He jibed Sam, nodding at his journal.

"Funny… What makes you so sure she… he's here?" Sam queried again as he softly closed the boot. "You got Demon ESP now or something?"

"What?" Dean snarked. "You doubting me again, Sam?"

"I just want to know… What makes you think they're here?" Sam demanded, arms crossed and a little irritated by the return of Dean's arrogant demeanor. He wasn't barging in anywhere without a few answers.

Dean frowned at Sam at first, but eventually he gave him an answer. "Blood on the door…" Dean quipped as he strode away.

Sam spun around and squinted at the building in an attempt to view the evidence himself, however it was beyond his ability to see that far away. At least until they crept closer. Dean had been right; there was blood on the door. There was a bloody, smeared hand print, just above the lock. Dean dabbed at the fresh blood, rubbing it between his fingers. "Demon ESP…" He muttered at Sam as he smirked victoriously.

"You think she… he knows we followed him?" Sam queried, avoiding the praise Dean obviously expected. Sam paused to run his fingers over the door jam, a little more attentive to his surroundings when his fingers came away tainted with yellow dust.

"Don't know." Dean commented, opening the door without resistance. The demon had practically ripped the lock off already.

"Let's hope not." Sam nodded hopefully. Surprise might be their only advantage. "You got the Colt?"

"Right here." Dean tapped the small of his back, where the pistol was securely secreted down his waist band.

The brothers moved into the darkness of an abandoned foyer. It was small, but economical, once painted in a similar sky blue shade as the door itself. The reception desk was barren, save a thick coating of dust. There was only one way to go from there, a solitary door behind the desk.

Dean approached boldly, without hesitation.

"Dean!" Sam whispered in caution as he followed, scouring the corridor they were steadily moving down. "The demon could be anywhere." A number of doors lead off the hallway, presumably to offices and store rooms.

"Huh?" Dean stammered, and then contemplated Sam's warning. "Oh, yeah." He nodded. He raised the Colt reassuringly. "We gotta sneak up like some coward?"

"No, but we can't be too careful…" Sam muttered as he scoured their surroundings for any signs they were not alone.

Their apprehensions were heightened by a sudden roar and noisy drumming of heavy rain on the tin roof. Outside dark storm clouds moved over the city once more, and lightning lit the dimming skies, as thunder rolled swiftly in afterwards. The sudden, abrupt flashes of light lit their surroundings, as Sam planned their tactical reconnaissance of the factory. He motioned towards the large double doors at the end of the corridor. He speculated it would lead them to the factory floor, or warehouse, or wherever the demon may have taken Elise.

Dean paused and tilted his head, seemingly unconvinced. Then he took off through a door to his left, leading down another hallway.

Sam glanced down the corridor Dean had suddenly headed down. "Hey, where are you going? I think we should go down…" He whispered as loudly as he dared, much of his demand swallowed up by the noise of the down pour outside.

Dean ignored Sam's query, merely holding his hand up in a 'stop' gesture.

"Hey, I was just saying!" Sam retorted quietly.

"Shhhh…" Dean ordered somewhat more forcibly.

Dean came to a halt and listened again.

"What?" Sam snapped at him, as he followed his brother's steady gait, a little irritated by Dean's conceited discontinuance. _As if their possible predicament wasn't concerning enough, now Dean was acting all high and mighty again!_ "What is it?"

"Can't you hear that?" Dean queried, pausing and tilting his head slightly in contemplation.

"NO!" Sam snapped back angrily, scanning the darkened cafeteria. "What? Like the rain? You can hear something else?" He snapped, scrutinizing his brother's air of confidence. Sam was no longer in a very approachable mood.

"Hell, yeah..." Dean's eyebrows arched in proclamation.

Sam shook his head with irritation. Dean's new warped sense of humor just wasn't amusing in the least. In fact, Sam realized, Dean's new sense of humor was not quite how he'd describe Dean's new bland, serious, solemn spiel on life at all. Dean didn't seem to actually have a sense of humor anymore…

As his irritation swelled, he paused in his fuming to realize... There was something, no real noise at all, but something. "What is it?"

"Just listen." Dean smirked with triumph.

"Yeah. I hear it." Sam muttered as he concentrated on ignoring the rain, instead listening to a low, almost steady noise coming from the kitchen area. He could just make out a strange, constant, reverberating hum, like a thousand fluorescent lights. "But what is it? Sounds like the whole atmosphere is electrically charged."

"Yeah…" Dean mused.

"The demon?" Sam speculated, nodding in confirmation of Dean's assessment. "Then it must be close by."

"Probably." Dean smirked as he moved forward. It was far too strong to have been caused by the electrical storm outside, certainly wouldn't have penetrated the thick concrete walls.

Sam tilted his head in admiration. Sometimes Dean astounded him.

Even as they edged past the cafeteria towards the large swinging doors into the kitchen they felt the electromagnetic tension in the air. If most demons caused the majority of electrical appliances to flicker and falter, the amount of electrical ambience this demon created in the air could probably light a small city.

Dean glanced through one of the small porthole-like windows in the swinging door. Sam moved to peer through the other. The kitchen was cast in an eerie blue luminescence, seemingly emanating from the large man standing in the center of the room.

If this was Devoratus, he had possessed a tall, bulky man, Latino in appearance, but barely out of his teens. He stood before Elise with his hands held out in front of him. A steady reflective glimmer was radiating from within his hands that flickered intermittently to bright white, almost like an electrical spark was swirling in his palm. Most likely it was the cause of the heightened electromagnetic tension in the air and the ghostly blue glow filling the room. From where they stood, the brothers could hear him chanting something with a deep gravelly voice, booming like the thunder outside.

Sam was amazed. Devoratus hadn't so much as securely lashed the girl down. Instead Elise stood in the center of the kitchen, although by no means compliant about it. She was yelling at him, or more precisely the demon within was yelling at him, with demonic eyes, black with vehemence and anger. She stood in the center of a sigil, drawn in her own blood, obviously obtained from her slashed wrists. She was unable to move beyond its perimeter. It acted like a devil's trap, of sorts. More blood streamed down her forehead from some kind of symbol carved into her brow.

"What has he done to her?" Sam whispered cautiously. So far Devoratus was oblivious to their presence. The Hex bags were working a real treat! Their conversation was limited and in nothing but a whisper; their silence was of the essence. Their plan relied heavily on surprise, and the last thing they wanted was the demon finding them first.

"Branded her." Dean whispered. "With his insignia; he has the demon within her incarcerated."

"Yeah?" Sam hissed.

Dean held the Colt at the ready, with a glimmer in his eye that had Sam worried he was about to go charging in again…

Devoratus's chanting intensified, it was getting louder and more rhythmic. The demon was so deeply focused on his mantra, that he remained ignorant to the hunters' presence. Elise yelled at him to stop, pleaded for him to reconsider. Devoratus smirked at her wasted effort. He raised his arms out to the sides as his incantation intensified. Slowly his palms turned upwards, when he uncurled his fingers, a flaming ball of fire exploded in each palm.

Sam knew exactly what he was about to do. With time of the essence he pushed through the doors and sprang towards the figure, ready to take the demon out bare handed if necessary. Dean smiled with pride at his brother's bravado, and then followed in his wake.

Devoratus spun around to face the intruders, surprised by the disturbance. Sam barely managed to discharge his shotgun before Devoratus cast the flaming projectiles, one after the other, at the Winchesters. Devoratus avoided the rock salt blast, just as Sam ducked the first fireball. As they sprang into the kitchen Sam stumbled backwards into Dean, as he evaded the flaming projectile. The younger Winchester felt the intense heat whiz by his ear as it narrowly missed them both.

Dean had the Colt cocked and ready to fire, however his clash with Sam unsteadied him and he failed to fire at the demon. He was forced to leap to the side to dodge the second fireball; fortunately it veered like a curveball, and exploded against the wall behind him.

With a swift wave of his hand Devoratus raised the hunters off their feet and tossed them backwards. The brothers crashed heavily into the cold, white wall behind, dislodging several tiles with the impact.

Devoratus roared with ire. He dashed forward angrily welcoming the unexpected challenge of a conflict. He raised his hands again and more fiery orbs sprang forth from his palms. He began to roll the fireballs maliciously in his palms. He sprang boldly towards the hunters with a defiant audacity almost rejoicing in the prospect of a fight and two more sacrifices. He held the fire orbs securely in his grasp, until he was close enough to cast them at the interlopers. He wasn't afraid of mere intruders, certainly not of mortal humans. He took careful aim at the hunters as he ran towards them, sizing them up and fixing his eyes directly upon them.

Devoratus unleashed his weapons with impeccable skill. The next onslaught of fiery projectiles was cast with an aim worthy of a Yankee's pitcher. Sam attempted to avoid the first fireball, however, the flaming projectile grazed his hip, singeing his jeans and searing the flesh beneath. He flinched backwards with the sudden intense pain almost falling to his knees, patting at the smoldering site in fear of his trousers igniting altogether.

Dean raised the Colt and aimed at the demon, just as Devoratus tossed the next fireball. Dean was forced to duck and swerve, but as his weight shifted, his still healing thigh seized upon him, and he lurched sideways. Devoratus's fireball pelted him square into his shoulder, knocking him backwards, with its momentum. The Colt skidded from his grasp, sliding across the floor, some feet away. Dean shrieked with the sudden, severe pain as he crashed back into the wall behind. He collapsed to the floor in writhing agony. He ripped frantically at the sheer blue flames that scorched through his jacket and shirt, searing his skin in a sickly stench of burnt flesh. Dean grunted furiously as he ripped his flaming jacket off and tossed it aside, into the corner of the room. His shirt beneath was scorched black by the extreme heat, the gapping singed hole revealed an angry red and blackened burn across his shoulder. Pulses of what seemed to be electrical flashes radiated from the wound. Dean howled with the intensity of the searing pain that emanated through his body.

Hell-Fire had a real bite.

Elise clawed at her invisible, mystic prison, desperately trying to free herself. But Devoratus's enchantment held her fast. She screamed at him in a language even Sam could not understand. The demon ignored her ranting; his concentration focused solely on the brothers.

The demon bellowed with sudden rage, his tone in tune with another explosion of bright lightning and the subsequent thunder of the storm raging outside. If Devoratus was responsible for the electrical storm unfolding over Little Rock, the Winchester brothers were in for one hell of a fight…

Sam's first instinct was to drag his brother away, to pull him to safety and out of harm's way. However Dean immediately sprang to his feet, lunging towards the Colt with an expert agility. He spun around to confront the demon and roared at Devoratus with irritated anger.

Devoratus froze in his tracks. As the demon scrutinized the intruders he paused, long enough to actually carefully examine Dean and then Sam. The fireballs extinguished immediately. The demon stepped back cautiously, deep in contemplation. Then he dropped to his knees and cowered before them.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered.

The demon glanced from one Winchester to the other as he laid his hands to the ground in apparent worship. "Please, master, I beg your forgiveness…"

Dean simply chuckled and then shot the pitiful demon right between the eyes. Devoratus slumped forwards onto his elbows, as his face grimaced in awe and pain. Shards of lightning radiated from the bullet wound, fingering its way beneath his skin in a web-like luminance until he collapsed to the ground; dead.

With Devoratus's death, his hold over his captive wavered and a thick black cloud of demonic smoke spewed from Elise's mouth. The demon within saw its chance to escape and swiftly fled into the gloaming of dusk and the awaiting storm outside. Seconds later Elise awoke from her numbing possession and began to shriek in horror. Her terrified screams echoed through the old building and then she collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Sam rushed to her side, checking her pulse, and sighing with relief when he found one. His relief subsided when his attention returned to the now still and lifeless body of Devoratus's host.

"Damn it Dean… we coulda at least tried to exorcise him!" Sam complained. He was shocked by Dean's rapid judgment and punishment of the man, especially when he had apparently surrendered.

Dean glared at him with an obvious look of mocking. "Why?"

"Because you just killed the man as well." Sam pointed out the obvious. Had Kalfu been right? Was Dean just a killing machine, an executioner of their father's making? "Damn it, he was just a kid…"

"You worried about my soul again, Samuel?" Dean grinned.

"Maybe…" Sam muttered. Another notch to Kalfu; if Dean was really this happy to execute an innocent without even attempting to exorcise the demon…

"You rather he torch us, bar-be-que that girl too, while we read him poetry?" Dean scoffed.

"Dean, didn't you see." Sam argued. "He as good as surrendered!"

"Clever ploy…" Dean remarked. "Demons don't surrender."

"I don't suppose we'll ever know now…" Sam huffed. "Will we?"

"No." Dean snapped back decisively.

Sam remained silent as he inspected the lacerations across Elise's wrists, to find she was bleeding profusely. He tried to concentrate on administering some token gesture of aide to the girl, ripping lengths of fabric from his shirt to bandage her wounds. However, his furrowed brow revealed the tumultuous thoughts bouncing around his mind. "What the hell did he mean by '_master_'?" Sam eventually queried.

"Who cares?" Dean sneered as he shoved his boot into the corpse of Devoratus's host in a brutal examination of the demon's certain demise. "He's dead now, and he's damn well never comin' back!"

"Yeah, but Dean…" Sam ranted. "Master?" The whole 'Prodigal Demon' business, that he hoped had died with Azazel, seemed to be rearing it's demonic head on more than just a few occasions.

"Forget it Sam…" Dean grinned to himself, out of sight of his brother. "He probably recognized the Colt. Damned thing was only trying to escape somehow, or distract us, so he could get the better of us."

"Yeah, but you don't think… I mean even Kalfu insinuated…" Sam stammered nervously. "And Azazel…"

"You mean the whole, you being the up and coming new leader of Hell?" Dean clarified. "What, like the Anti-Christ?"

"Well… Yeah…" Sam moaned.

"You planning on taking over the world, Sam?" Dean smirked with mischief.

"What? No!" Sam snapped back.

"Good… I won't have to kill you then." Dean replied with a cool grin. "Besides, I think it was me he was scared of!"

Sam rolled his eyes, and then glared back uncomfortably. 'Master' was an unusual greeting from a demon, and it unnerved him that, still, the creatures of the Underworld regarded him as some kind of Demonic Leader.

"I'll get the girl… what should we do with him… the body?" Sam muttered.

"We could cremate him…" Dean smiled, glancing at his still smoldering jacket. "We still got some of Hell's own fires…"

"Damn it Dean, get serious." Sam snapped at him as he scooped Elise up into his arms. "The police, the Feds, the papers… Oprah… they're gonna be all over this, once Elise tells 'em what happened. We can't just burn him."

"Have it your way… Master!" Dean smirked with glee. Sam shook his head in repugnance. They left Devoratus where he laid. Once Elise was up to recalling her story, and with the regular police patrols, somebody was sure to find the body, sooner or later.

oooOOOooo

_**Hightop Motel,**_

_**Little Rock, ARKANSAS. **_

Bobby heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala as it pulled into the motel parking lot. It was dark outside, beyond dark, what with the raging storm that had passed through the town leaving behind dark clouds that now blackened the skies. The rain had let up almost as swiftly as it had started, and the storm clouds would eventually roll off into obscurity: None of which had quelled Bobby's concerns. His repeated calls, during the afternoon, to Dean's cell had proved fruitless, further exasperating his angst. He'd told himself that Dean had either not charged the phone, or he'd turned it off… and storms happened, even furious electrical storms like the one that had raged for no more than a half hour. Several had been raging on and off for a fortnight now… Still, Bobby had been sick with worry.

"Where the hell have you two been?" He demanded as he charged out towards the Impala. He met the brothers with a solemn, urging gaze. "Dean?" He queried as the elder gingerly alighted the Chevy.

Dean's eyes met him briefly. He glared at the seasoned hunter with a measured degree of loathing at once more being treated as a child. "It's done!" He smirked triumphantly.

Bobby took note of the hunter's tired expression, his scorched shirt, and his freshly bandaged right shoulder beneath and realized the brothers had had a tough day.

"What the? It was the girl?" Bobby queried hopefully, jumping to conclusions. "Elise?"

"No… She's still alive… just." Sam replied as he followed Bobby and Dean into the motel room. "We had to take her to the hospital. She was in a bad way…" He warned. Her body had been damaged, and she'd lost a large volume of blood, but there was no telling just how much the horrible trauma her fragile young psyche had endured. "What ever demon had her possessed, escaped us though."

"What? Devoratus… escaped?" Bobby muttered, still not up to speed on the whole demonic carousel the brother's had faced in one short afternoon.

"No, he's dead." Sam clarified. "The demon possessing Elise escaped. She wasn't Devoratus…" Sam gave Dean an uneasy glance as he sank onto the couch.

"And what the hell happened to you? You get this seen to at the hospital?" Bobby ventured to query as he urged Dean to sit at the dining table and moved to inspect the elder Winchester's latest battle wound. Sam's scorched and ripped jeans didn't pass the observant hunter's notice either.

Dean snapped Bobby's probing hand away. "No… Sam saw to it." He replied coolly. Bobby glared from one brother to the other, with a concerned scowl across his brow. It wasn't hard to pick up on Sam's concerned expression in return.

"It's a burn; I did my best…" Sam offered, glancing at Dean. He knew the wound was bad, but Dean, in usual fashion, remained stoically defiant about the severity. Dean had flatly refused to even enter the hospital, let along have his injury seen to.

Whilst interns had relieved him of the still unconscious Elise, Sam had made a stealthy exit, with a brief detour to a supply room at the hospital. Dean had waited impatiently in the Impala all the while. Once he returned, Sam peeled away the charred remains of Dean's T-shirt and cleaned the wound, as best he could, with sterile saline solution. Sam suspected that the injury beneath had most likely burnt through several layers of skin. It pained Dean to have Sam clean the charred fabric from the raw, scorched and blistered flesh, and yet still he refused the luxury of pain killers and proper aid, just meters away. Sam applied a liberal smearing of burn cream, and then bandaged a sterile gauze pad over the wound. It was all Dean would allow him to do. He had then seen to his own thigh, ripping the latest casualty of his wardrobe apart with his knife. Fortunately he had faired much better, coming away with a burn only slightly worse off than a bad sunburn.

"So… what happened?" Bobby demanded. He tried once more to examine Dean's injury, only to be swiftly rebutted again.

"It was Devoratus." Sam sighed. "He'd kidnapped Elise."

"And what happened to Devoratus?" Bobby queried, abandoning any further attempts to inspect Dean's wound.

"I killed him." Dean replied as he placed the Colt on the table with a broad grin of victory. "Shot him right between the eyes!" He stated blankly.

"_She_ wasn't Devoratus after all." Sam informed Bobby. "He was going to kill her, Elise and the demon both. We only just got there in time…"

"So, we're one demon down, another still out there?" Bobby clarified.

"Yeah, at least we know Devoratus is well and truly dead." Sam replied.

"And the hospital…" Bobby gazed at Sam. "They ask any questions?"

"A few…" Sam nodded. "I'd give it an hour or so before the hospital staff come looking to report back to us. Well to the FBI, that is! Probably want us to explain exactly what happened and all… it won't be long before they come looking for us."

"We'd better get our things together then…" Bobby urged the brothers, "and leave as soon as possible." Once the police and the real FBI got wind of some 'alleged' FBI agents cracking the case, killing the perpetrator and rescuing the girl, well, neither the Winchesters, nor Bobby needed to be around for that kind of attention, or questioning.

"Definitely… So what now? Maybe that werewolf in North Dakota?" Sam asked eagerly.

"I might swing past and check that out, but I think you boys may have something else to do." Bobby replied ambiguously.

"What do you mean?" Sam queried.

"Let's just say I got an interesting call whilst you were out." Bobby replied, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

"Yeah?" Sam queried. "Who from?"

"You." Bobby replied, smiling dubiously at Sam.

"What? I didn't… Besides Ruby's got my phone…" Sam retorted. "Oh shit… you mean… '_Ruby'_ called you?"

"Could be." Bobby admitted. "Whoever called couldn't connect, and when I tried to call back I got the usual message… _phone's either disconnected or switched off_." He gave Dean an accusing glare, however the hunter seemed intent on ignoring him.

"Batteries are probably flat by now!" Sam declared. "So what do we do?"

"I figure the best place to start is Dominion Springs… see if you can't find out what happened to her." Bobby suggested. He wasn't keen on them rushing off after any more demons just yet anyways, not with Dean injured again. "I've tried scrying for her again, but I still get nothing, but you never know. She was hurt pretty bad, maybe she's just not strong enough to attract my radar…"

"Yeah, or it could be she's…" Sam's voice faltered as Dean glared at him with an unmistakable _'I told you so' _expression.

"Who cares? She's a lying whore-witch! We should just let the bitch rot…" Dean began vehemently, then paused when both Bobby and Sam reeled around and glared back at him.

"What, Dean?" Sam demanded angrily. "This is the demon that saved your ass?" He snapped back at his ungrateful brother.

"Fine, let's go find her." Dean retorted somewhat calculatingly. "We can tie up the loose ends! Those hounds won't have left much of her to find though."

oooOOOooo

Booby knew it was time to head back home. His dog would be missing him by now, and he couldn't expect his neighbor to keep feeding the Rottweiler indefinitely. And he had a salvage yard to tend to… And the brothers would need a decent ammunition reserve for the Colt. Even so, it was breaking his heart to leave the brothers, but they all had issues they needed to resolve. Dean certainly didn't want him around, he'd made that sentiment perfectly clear!

Bobby couldn't help but speculate that the kid had taken a sizeable chunk of Hell back with him as a souvenir and it was more than the weary hunter could cope with for the time being. Even though Dean's latest demon hunting exploits seemed to give him some sort of direction, something to put his life back on track with, with some kind of bearing Bobby was concerned. Executing Devoratus, in such a brutal manner, was mind-boggling; because even Bobby knew Dean's irritated and angry demeanor and his callousness was out of character, even for the usually brusque and arrogant Dean Winchester!

But even Bobby knew that Dean had to deal with his issues in his own way and in his own time: Like when John had died. And it had taken the kid some time to finally face up to his grieving emotions then. And then when Sam had died too, his ass-about resolution in dealing with Sam's death was proof enough: He simply didn't know how to deal. The only solution he could live with was what had got him in this situation in the first place. And it wasn't like there was any kind of precedence for being condemned to death at the jaws of Hell's Hounds, and facing an eternity in Hell, and only just escaping both by the skin of your teeth! The kid had suffered from a stunted sense of emotion his whole life, courtesy of his father, most likely. John had been a Marine, and emotions were something that Marines just didn't have, certainly not when on the job. And the Winchesters were always on the job! With Dean's desperate need to please the man, he had learnt to simply shut down all visible signs of emotions, to become his father's 'good little soldier'. All in all he had been left unable to properly deal with his emotions when they managed to escape his lock box of feelings and clawed their way to the surface. Dean had never really had a chance to form an emotional attachment to anyone other than his father and brother; he simply never had a chance to learn how to develop a balanced psyche. At least Sam had faired better in that department…

Bobby watched as the Impala pulled away. And although he fought it, he had a dark and grim feeling at the pit of his stomach that something wasn't quite right. Something wasn't quite right with Dean Winchester…

A desperate phone call from Sam in the following few days would only confirm his fears.

oooOOOooo

**I hope you enjoy.**

**And please, please review: It's always nice to know somebody's reading your work. What with all the hours of writing, proof reading, hair pulling, spell checks (and then only realising after posting that the word was spelt correctly, only it wasn't the word you wanted to write…) writer's block moments, new episodes that totally blow your fic out of the water and sleepless nights coming up with brilliant plots and dialogue, only to have forgotten it in the morning!**


	5. Chapter 4

_**I certainly hope readers have stuck with this fic. I'm sorry **__**it's taken so long to post this next chapter, unfortunately life has had its claws in me, and I simply haven't had the time. Plus this is quite a significant chapter, and I wanted it just right. I'm not sure I've quite got it to my absolute liking as yet even though I've found myself proofing and editing endlessly… But now I've decided I should stop toying with it and just post it!**_

_**I hope you enjoy.**_

_**Chrissymi…**_

_**

* * *

**__**Dominion Springs,**_

_**ARKANSAS**_

Dominion Springs, in daylight, was quite a beautiful town. Much of the township was barely more than dilapidated ruins, however small patches of overgrown gardens were flush with pretty blooms and butterflies. Some of the quaint period houses maintained enough character to reflect how pretty the town had once been. It was hard to imagine it had been the site of a Devil's gate just a few weeks before.

Sam had been in two minds about returning. Dean already had some major issues, and bringing him back to Dominion Springs could very well tip him completely over the edge. _And for what… a demon?_ Maybe Dean was right, maybe this was futile lunacy. Sam knew Ruby had lied and deceived him, manipulated them both. There was only one reason that he kept telling himself, over and over again, to come back for her, (well aside from getting his cell phone back, of course); _she'd saved Dean_. She'd put her life on the line for Dean.

"I guess we'd best start at the church." Sam muttered as they drove towards St Dominic's. The church itself was in ruins, just as they had left it. It was as if some greater being had taken a huge sword to the building and severed it in two, which Kalfu pretty much had. Everything around it was dead; the grass, the trees, the bushes… there were no colorful butterflies, or blooms or birds within the church grounds. Sam glanced at Dean and noticed that his expression had set into a hard callous look of indifference; Sam didn't believe it for an instance. "You ok with this?" He hedged cautiously.

Dean peered at Sam, his stoic expression firmly plastered on his face, however he refused to answer.

It wasn't as if the brothers hadn't ever returned to the 'scene of the crime', so to speak. They'd often had to return to the precise location of a hunt gone wrong, where one, the other or both had been injured. Dean had even welcomed his cherished Impala back, all twisted and trashed, after the fateful night when Azazel had almost succeeded in killing him in it… but somehow this was different. Even though, as hunters, they faced death every other day, on every hunt, and generally in no pleasant fashion, this was still so much different. They'd never had to face death head on before, knowing it was coming, knowing when, and how brutally vicious it would be. But worst of all, knowing that only Hell lay in wait once it was done. Sometimes ignorance was a wonderful state… The fact that Dean had survived didn't seem to lessen the gravity of the event. Evil had sent its savage hounds of death to ravage him. Evil had opened the doors of Hell, and Evil had shoved Dean right into its depths...

"Ok then." Sam replied. "You want to wait in the car?" He asked Dean as he parked the Chevy beside the church entrance.

"No." Dean replied and swung himself out of the vehicle, wincing as his actions tugged on the raw, blistered flesh of his shoulder. Dean grunted ever so slightly. His burned shoulder, courtesy of Devoratus, pained him.

Dean paused once out of the car, surveying the surroundings, absorbing the scenery and landscape of the desolated town. His gaze eventually fixed on the church itself, and he seemed to subconsciously force a grin to himself, if only slightly.

Sam speculated he was processing the information; he had hardly been in any condition to have noticed much of the town, or church when he and Ruby had brought him here. In fact Sam speculated Dean probably couldn't remember very much at all of the night, not with his injuries, the blood loss and his semi-conscious state. Didn't erase the fact that he did know he had almost died, and had almost been tossed into the very pits of Hell – right here.

He noticed Dean's caged expression. "You sure you're ok?" Sam cautioned to query.

Dean's gaze turned incensed. "I'm fine!" He snapped as he made his way towards what was left of the church, trying to hide the fact that he cradled his left arm, taking the weight of his injured shoulder. The force of Devoratus's fireball had probably aggravated his fractured collar bone as well.

Sam passed by Dean when he paused at the base of the steps. Dean hesitated briefly, turning to examine the surrounding landscape, frowning with, what Sam believed, was trepidation. Sam tucked his head down and proceeded to enter the church. He was compelled to ask Dean yet again if he was ok, but knew better… he bit his tongue and hoped he was.

The church steps were mostly intact, even if they lurched drastically at an angle. The open entrance was hardly welcoming. The doors remained splintered and dislodged half way into the entry foyer, much of the timber floor was laid bare to the floor joists, exposing the scarred soil beneath. The Devil's Gate had thankfully sealed tight, leaving nothing more than a ragged line of pulverized rock and earth, some of which had been scorched glassy black by the intense heat. The stench of smoke, baked earth and sulfur still lingered in the air, and brown smears of dried blood were still evident across the floor. Not much remained of Bobby's precautionary measures to protect them from Kalfu and his Hell Hounds. The roof was almost entirely nonexistent after Kalfu's destruction, and the elements had obliterated what little was left of the goofer dust and salt lines.

Sam moved forward and collected Bobby's length of rope that was still wrapped around the baptismal font, and found one of their missing shotguns not far away, in a shadowy corner. Sam examined the site in amazement. The church seemed much smaller in daylight, not nearly as menacing somehow, with the bright afternoon sun streaming in through the gapping roof. The floor remained littered with a glistening array of brightly colored glass from the shattered stained glass windows. He moved into the center of the vacated church and examined a number of deep claw gouges in what remained of the floor. It was where Ruby had tried to fend of the Hell Hounds' vicious attack.

Sam noticed as Dean cautiously inspected the church visually, from the shattered doorway, before entering. He paused in what remained of the small foyer, his eyes scrutinizing every shady nook and cranny. He seemed to suspect evil in every dark shadow. He fingered the Colt, tucked into his waistband, reassuringly. He was visibly on edge and Sam wondered if Dean's stoic façade was finally crumbling.

"Obviously _nothing_ here…" Sam muttered ambiguously; hoping to reassure his brother, as much as to convey the obvious… Ruby wasn't there either. "I'm gonna scout around outside, see if I can't pick up Ruby's trail." He informed Dean as he made his way back outside; the church still gave him the heebie-jeebies. "You comin'?" He asked Dean.

Dean shook his head. "In a minute…" He replied as he took guarded steps into the church.

Sam wanted to object, to urge him away from his obvious source of trepidation. However he thought better of it. Maybe this was exactly what Dean needed; to face the reality of his near-death experience, to realize that he hadn't been ok at all, and to finally admit that everything was not fine.

"Ok…" Sam replied. "I'm just outside."

Sam gave Dean a concerned glance as he left the church. Dean stood with his back to him, his shoulders held back, his head held high in a defiant stance. Sam made his way out of the church, with a shiver of apprehension shuddering him as he left. If he never had to return here, it would be too soon.

Dean examined the church with a detached interest. He walked silently through the debris. As he turned around and inspected the yawning fissure that had hacked itself through the floor, he smiled with victory. He stood peering into the cavernous, gapping hole that had been ripped through the church floorboards revealing the earthy scar Hell had left on the ground below. Before him had been Hell's gateway to the Underworld.

He really had climbed out of Hell.

As he walked past the baptismal font he paused, gave a slight smirk and pushed it over. The font shattered as it crashed to the floor, spilling what remained of Bobby's holy water out across the dusty floors, the weight of the impact almost smashing through the timber floorboards beneath it.

Something made his skin crawl, and the hairs at the back of his neck warned him that something was very off about his surroundings. He peered into the shadows, expecting someone, or something, to pounce upon him…

oooOOOooo

Sam moved off towards the church grounds. He leapt down the askew stairs and bounded to firm ground. He began inspecting the dry dirt with an intense scrutiny. Sam's eyes searched for any clues as to Ruby's whereabouts.

The younger Winchester scanned the desolated surroundings. _'Something musta made that call from my phone!'_ He muttered to himself.

Sam's expression seemed to regain a glimmer of hope. He considered that Ruby may not even be there anymore. She was a demon, and demons had ways of getting about that still had him somewhat stumped. Sam's eyes searched for any clues as to Ruby's whereabouts.

He noticed a number of deep gouges in the sun baked earth, and what may have been dried blood, protected from the elements by what remained of the church eves, now some feet lower than when they had been built. As he rounded what remained of the weatherboard wall, Sam gently dabbed at more brown smears of dried blood.

She had apparently been pursued into the cemetery behind the church. An overturned grave marker had more blood smeared across it. As he trekked further into the cemetery, rounding headstones and markers, he followed a tentative trail of the claw marks and blood. Sam found two sites where the hounds must have gotten the better of her, for the desecration to the tombstones and grave markers was extensive, as was the blood and savage claw marks.

"Shit!" Sam muttered to himself as he moved towards one of a dozen, or so, huge mausoleums. The door to which had obvious tell-tale signs of a struggle. It was blood splattered and long, deep claw marks scarred the hard-wearing timber.

He tried to force the door open, but he was met with an obstinate resistance. The door was apparently locked solid, and stubbornly refused to open, despite Sam's vain attempts. It finally gave way, when the aging hinges, rusted through, snapped with Sam's sheer strength in his one, last desperate heave. Daylight streamed into the dusty, suffocatingly stuffy crypt. It was clear the mausoleum hadn't seen fresh air for well over a century. His mood became somber; Ruby had never made it into the tomb…

"Shit!" Sam complained. "Ruby!" He yelled into the landscape with a hint of desperation. However, the cemetery remained deathly silent. "Ruby!" He realized… maybe she couldn't get the door open either… the hounds may have killed her… right here…

Sam made his way back to St. Dominic's. He glanced at the church as he passed by the double entry door and contemplated entering, and then decided not to. His emotions were already churning. He knew he shouldn't, it was against everything he'd ever been raised to feel, but he was worried about Ruby. Demon aside, she had become an ally. With the blood and devastation about them there was every chance she really was dead; phone call or not! And now he was pretty certain that even if most man-made weapons and injuries to the demon's host couldn't actually kill the demon within, he was pretty sure Hell's own creatures could. And the Hell Hounds had certainly ravaged her…

Dean may have been right… she probably was dead.

For all he knew his phone had simply shorted out, or a damned rodent had sat on it, pushing all the right buttons… But it saddened him to think of her dead. And he needed to deal with his unexpected remorse and his perplexed sense of grieving. Because he knew Dean didn't share his sentiments, which was something of an understatement. In actual fact Dean violently opposed them, and Sam just couldn't deal with that right now. Dean certainly didn't hide his animosity towards Ruby, strange, considering she'd been the one who'd effectively saved his life.

It seemed both Winchester brothers had issues they needed to deal with…

Sam made his way to the Impala and leaned against her fender. His gaze was lost on the church before him, his mind elsewhere, deep in his tumultuous thoughts and emotions. He didn't want to think… His fingers subconsciously traced small swirls into the dusty surface across the Chevy's bonnet. Strangely his attentions focused on the smudges his fingers left behind; a multitude of symbols and sigils of demons and creatures. His gaze examined the monotonous pattern the dust had created across the Impala's bonnet, with its dirty pock marks and rivulet streaks from the frequent rains… But still his thoughts returned. He briefly considered why Dean hadn't raised Heaven and Hell to clean the car yet, she was in desperate need of some TLC. But then Dean hadn't quite been himself, he told himself. Maybe this visit, to the very site of his near destruction, could help mend his damaged psyche. He shook his mind free of its aimless meandering.

He pulled the Impala's keys from his pocket and contemplated driving through the town in search of some trace of the demoness. It just didn't seem right that she should be dead, not when they had all survived… Sam just wasn't sure how he should be feeling. Logic sided with Dean; she was a demon, therefore she was evil, deceitful, conniving, manipulating… well the list was endless! But she had a definite flip side. She'd never lied about lying, which in some contorted, alternate, lateral thought could have made her sincere, or Sam tried to convince himself. She'd certainly never brought them harm, hell she'd saved their asses on more than one occasion. So just where did that leave her? Friend or foe? And why did he have such a heavy sense of sadness in the pit of his stomach, and an asphyxiating lump of sorrow in his throat? Why did he even wonder how he felt about her? He rubbed at a slight wetness at the corner of his eye. He'd never admit it was a tear of sadness; it was just the result of the dry, dusty wind that seemed to be the only thing that moved through the church grounds.

oooOOOooo

She felt the trepidation even before she entered the church grounds. Something tainted with evil had poisoned the entire graveyard. Not a living plant, bush or tree remained. No animals, no birds or insects. Everything was dead. Hell's own had desecrated the grounds here…

Ruby had avoided it with good reason, and had kept well away. Sacred ground had almost been the death of her. Had weakened her to such a state she could barely defend herself against Hell's hounds. She stood a better chance once she managed to flee the church grounds... Even so the hounds had mauled her to a point she was at dire risk of dying, herself. And then the hounds had simply vanished. She knew then it was over. But in her weakened state she hadn't the energy to submit her weary host's body to another round of holy poison and she stayed clear of the church. Dragged herself away… Close to death herself, she barely realised when the hunters left town, leaving her behind.

She'd lain close to expiration for almost a week, too weary even to leave her host's body. Instead she'd held up in the saloon, with the ghost of a crazy dead drunk. After two weeks with the angry spirit she knew why somebody had obviously seen fit to execute him with a bullet to his head. She wished she could do the same with his spirit. But she wasn't about to satisfy her irked desires with a revisitation to the graveyard in search of his remains. And he'd given her some company as her soul... and her host's body… healed. It seemed as good a place as any to hold out, and she'd found an abandoned stash of, now, well aged whiskey in the cellar that had its own soothing comfort... The hounds had taken their toll on her, as had the poisons of sacred ground. She'd need her strength before she could walk out of the small town, to some sort of civilisation. She simply didn't have the strength to convey herself in any other way. She still didn't…

Then she'd found Sam's phone, tucked at the bottom of her jacket pocket and she'd figured, with her valiant attempt to save Dean, Sam at least owed her a lift…

And here he was. She cradled his phone in her hands, for reassurance, and a kind of Dutch courage. It made sensing him easier when he arrived. Even though, as she felt him getting closer, a feeling of angst and uneasiness had accompanied his coming. She'd felt him as he arrived, with an overwhelming disturbing manner. A feeling of animosity and odium seemed to fill the town. She was fearful at first, until she heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala.

As she approached St Dominic's she could sense, though, that something very powerful and very evil had left its mark on the small church and grounds. Whether it was the desecrated, violated church grounds and the remnants of Kalfu himself or the residual effects of the consecrated grounds, she could not tell. However she was filled with an all consuming dread and fear.

She figured, as soon as she saw Sam… With everything that had transpired here at Dominion Springs… When things had gone so terribly wrong… There was just no way possible Sam and Bobby could have defended Dean against the likes of Kalfu… Not without the Colt, and she had no idea where it had gone after the Hounds had ripped into her… certainly wasn't anywhere close to Bobby's protective circle in which all three hunters had been! She simply presumed Dean was dead… there just could be no other alternative!

And she figured Sam would be pretty devastated and monumentally pissed with her failure. She had failed to deliver as promised. The mighty Winchester brothers were no more! And he certainly seemed devastated, as he leaned against the unusually filthy Impala. His shoulders were slumped and dejected, he unconsciously ran his fingers through the red dust that coated the Chevy as he toyed with the car keys in the other; both sure signs that Dean was absent.

He turned away slightly as he swept the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving it glistening in the sun with moisture…

It only confirmed her suspicions; Dean was dead.

With a growing trepidation she entered the church grounds, surprised when the usual nausea and angst didn't swamp her weary body. Everything sacred and holy had been desecrated, steeped so deep in Hell that the grounds actually invigorated her, instead of weakened her. She hadn't expected that – at all.

And yet the surrounding, ambient flow of energy and atmosphere had been left in a state of flux, in erratic conflict between what it should be; sacred and holy, and the evil that had infected it, through and through. It left her feeling confused and disorientated, her instincts and intuition tumbled and tossed about like a bouncing ball.

"Sam?" She whispered as she paced slowly up towards him.

He was startled by her appearance; he had definitely been somewhere else…

"Ruby?" He frowned, almost in awe.

"Hi Sam…" She ventured cautiously. He could certainly be forgiven for wanting to kill her right there and then…

"I've looked everywhere..." He muttered, still in astonishment.

"Sam, I'm sorry." She consoled. "Kalfu would have…"

"What?" He stammered, lost for words, and wondering if he was actually seeing a ghost. Her clothes were as ragged and dishevelled as when he'd last seen her; still blood stained and torn. Even the demon within had failed to successfully heal her wounds, not when they were inflicted by Hell's own Instrument of Death; the Hell Hounds. Her body was marred by ragged wounds, still scabby and raw. She hunched as she stood, favouring her abdomen, and her left arm. Deep gouges ran down the side of her face and neck and had only just begun to heal.

"I tried..." Ruby peered at Sam with solemn eyes. "I really wish I could have saved him; there was just no way…"

"What?" Sam repeated. He was obviously too overwhelmed to comprehend the connotation of her apology.

"Dean… I'm sorry about Dean." She reiterated. Maybe not all too much, though, because, of course, Dean's death would allow her the freedom to woo Sam into her own manipulations…

"Why?" He queried as he tilted his head.

"Because we couldn't save him…" She replied, a little confused herself.

"No… we did… Your plan worked… we did save him." Sam interrupted her.

"You what?" She queried with disbelief.

"He's alive." Sam replied. "… and you're alive… I thought, when we couldn't find you…" He reached out to her, placing his hand on her arm and ensuring she was actually corporeal and not a hallucination of his own desires. His fingers examined the wounds to her arm, he found her skin was cold to the touch and it reminded him that she wasn't really human after all… "You're hurt?"

"I'm healing…" She replied softly. She retorted from his touch, turning away ever so slightly, and hugging what remained of her shirt around herself. "The hounds… takes a little longer…" What was left of her tattered garments hardly covered her. Her petite bosoms were laid bare to her black, lacy bra, revealing further wounds. It embarrassed her that he could see her in her most weakened state. "Dean's really alive?" She eventually muttered with disbelief.

"Yeah… he's really alive." Sam nodded, respecting her need to deal with her wounds in her own way. He realised how viciously the Hell Hounds had savaged her, when he mentally compared her slow rate of recovery to Dean's.

"So you… _killed…_ Kalfu?" She queried, pulling her shirt tightly about herself, wincing with the still painful wounds.

"Yeah… I killed him." Sam grinned reluctantly, with humbled pride.

"But how? Everything's still… amiss… its… something's off… unbalanced… It's like I can still feel… Kalfu… and Hell… here." She replied.

"Yeah… well he kinda…" Sam admitted tentatively. "Kalfu opened a Devil's Gate…"

"What?" Ruby demanded in horror. "_Why_ the hell… _How _the hell did he open a Devil's Gate?" Ruby demanded, more of herself than of Sam. Ruby had a certain condescending inflection in her comments that had Sam feeling like a second grader again. "Kalfu must have been desperate…"

"What?" Sam queried.

"To have opened a Gate." She replied. "I never realised how powerful he must be…"

"Yeah, well he certain wasn't your run of the mill demon…" Sam nodded in agreement.

"No, really Sam..." Ruby frowned at him. "…opening a Devil's Gate is not exactly child's play, hell it doesn't even come close to rocket science! I'm not sure I could even name more than a handful of demons that could actually do it. Dominion Springs, this church… it must be on some natural breach, or a thinning of the walls… But the energy it must have taken… And dicey… I mean it'd be risky, unstable… it must have zapped his energy dry…"

"What?" Sam had to take a few seconds before his mind could process her ramblings into any kind of sense.

"It takes a hell of a lot of power to open a Devil's Gate. So much he would have been so close to… to death… and I mean the demon within!" She muttered softly. "I'm amazed he didn't exorcise himself through sheer lack of energy to maintain possession…"

"Maybe that's why I could kill him." Sam mused.

"You _really_ killed him?" Ruby queried in disbelief, the lingering sense of him still very strong.

"Yeah…." Sam stated confidently. "I shot him, with the Colt…"

"And you _killed_ him?" She probed. "Dead… Sam? Seriously I can still sense him here… Did you see him really _die_; lights extinguished… no chance he escaped. He didn't get, even the smallest chance to vaporize… did he?"

"Umm…" Sam couldn't actually remember. His only thoughts at the time were that Dean was dead. "I shot him in the leg… I think he… may have… got sucked back into Hell." Although, now Sam wasn't exactly 100 percent sure.

"So he did… _vaporise_?" She probed.

"Yeah." Sam sighed. "Maybe…"

"You know, then, he may not be dead?" She warned solemnly.

"No... he's gotta be dead!" Sam argued.

"I sure hope so…" She gazed at him with what appeared to be genuine sincerity.

"Well, he hasn't come back for Dean, if that's what you mean." Sam replied.

"I suppose that's something…" She muttered. "But he may just be so exhausted he hasn't the strength or energy yet…"

"No…" Sam retorted. "I shot him and he burned up. He, like, self cremated, and then he, his soul, got sucked back into Hell…"

"He must have burned himself out…" Ruby speculated.

"He what?" Sam queried edgily.

"After opening the Gate…" Ruby explained. "And being shot by the Colt… he must have pushed his ability and strength too far. He couldn't maintain his host, or his possession and… he burned himself out – literally."

"So he is dead?" Sam hoped so.

"I don't know. I certainly hope so… If you really did… kill him…" She sighed. "I just don't know. But, if he's not dead… if you didn't kill him, he'd have to find a new host. I'm not sure he even could, he wouldn't have the strength to fight the rightful soul… He'd be so drained it would take him weeks, maybe longer, to regain his full potential, to build up his energy and his powers again..." She gazed at him with a solemn expression. "Seriously, Sam, if he's still loose… when he recovers, and he eventually catches up with the two of you… Neither of you stands a chance! I'm not sure anyone does…"

Ruby was concerned. There was just no way Dean could be alive, not if Sam was too… Not if there was a remote possibility Kalfu was still alive, and if he'd had time to vaporize… if his essence had been sucked back into Hell there was every chance he'd be back… for what was owed him… for Dean and then probably Sam too.

"We'll just have to find him first then..." Sam muttered, wondering if Dean's new found 'Demon ESP' hunting skills could help them.

"Yeah, well good luck with that, I don't like your chances!" Ruby sighed. "If he's alive he's probably on your tail as we speak! But, Sam, more importantly, if he opened a Devil's Gate: What did he let out?"

"Nothing." Sam replied instantly.

"Nothing?" Ruby retorted with disbelief. "He must have opened it for a reason. You sure nothing…" She didn't seem convinced.

"No, nothing... Only Dean." Sam replied

She stopped abruptly. "What? Dean was… in Hell?"

"Well not all the way in… One of the hounds shoved him into it the abyss…" Sam explained, feeling like a reckless fool again. "He somehow landed on a ledge… I had to climb in to save him. We only just made it out, once it started to shut it closed up pretty fast." _Talk about 'Reader's Digest's' condensed version..._

"So he opened it… just to toss Dean in?" She couldn't quite understand why, when the Hounds would just as effectively drag his soul to Hell anyway. And then to let him out again… Hell wasn't usually too keen on letting its newest recruits go, not without and induction of hell fire and brimstone and several centuries of torture and torment! Her mind searched for a reason. "And nothing got out… he didn't try to summon anything?"

"No…" Sam replied.

"Then, I suppose it wasn't expected…" She muttered; _if nothing got out, and nothing was summoned, then maybe it had been his plan all along…_ "You're sure _nothing_ got out?"

"Yeah, definitely." Sam conferred. "I don't know why though, it didn't take long in Wyoming for hundreds of demons to escape…"

"He would only have opened it for as long as he needed to... which makes me wonder... only Kalfu could have kept it open… if he had really died, it would have snapped shut straight away." Ruby mused.

"You think he wanted to let something out?" Sam muttered in contemplation.

"Or in… I think he probably wanted to..." Ruby began, but went suspiciously quiet. "I suppose… Maybe…" Ruby muttered dubiously, not quite verbalising her true thoughts. "You may be right, maybe nothing did get out. Back in Wyoming, we knew Azazel's plan; knew he planned for the gate to open, so we waited…"

"Oh." Sam nodded with acknowledgement.

Ruby glanced at him and realised, for a demon hunter he had no real concept of Hell at all. "There are several echelons of Hell, Sam. Those incarcerated closest to the top are your basic run of the mill thieves, adulterers, blasphemers… _lawyers_; you know the kind… just damned souls. The longer you're there the deeper they drag you in. Your fully fledged, really evil, high level demon, they're interned in a maximum security kinda Hell, deep in the very guts... where even the fires of Hell can't survive!"

"So that's why nothing got out?" Sam queried.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Trust me; the expression 'when Hell freezes over' isn't exactly an impossibility."

"Really?" Sam muttered, still coming to grips with her disclosure. "So... they just couldn't?" Sam repeated.

"Well, not unless he summoned something directly… released it from its incarceration." She replied. "Trust me it takes a hell of a lot of planning and fighting to even get close to escaping. Alcatraz is a walk in the park in comparison. And your basic damned soul can't actually vaporize; they'd have to physically climb out. It takes a few centuries to actually become a… you know… a real demon and all. Even then it takes a while to get the hang of it." She explained. "You're lucky… this time. The others, the real demons, probably just couldn't escape their confinement in time."

There was a lengthy pause as Sam contemplated her revelation and Ruby contemplated the possible implications of a Devil's Gate. Ruby just couldn't fathom why Kalfu had to open a Devil's Gate… was Dean's soul so special? Had she overlooked his value and worth? Was he such a threat to the Underworld that Kalfu saw fit to ensure he couldn't escape? But a Gate? It was certainly going to extremes. She could only speculate that Kalfu had some other, ulterior motives…

Neither spoke for sometime.

"Dean, is he… Is he ok?" She eventually queried. She had a patronizing manner that always made him feel so incompetent and inept…

"Yeah! He was pretty beat up, but he's mostly ok now." Sam replied. "Why?"

"People don't usually get tossed into Hell and climb back out Sam, not without…" Ruby fell silent, and pursed her lips. "If Kalfu isn't dead, he wouldn't just let him go… Are you sure he's ok?" She went silent and contemplative.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean…" Sam muttered.

"I'm just trying to work out just why Kalfu opened a Devil's Gate." She explained. "And considering he may not be dead at all, after opening the Devil's Gate, and being shot with the Colt, he'd be so drained, so vulnerable, he wouldn't even be safe in Hell… he has his own blood-thirsty opponents down there… but he could maybe appease them with… at least until he'd got his strength back… if he had a host he could easily possess…"

"What are you getting at?" Sam hesitated to ask, although, deep down, he really did…

"Sam… Are you sure he's really Dean?" She demanded.

Sam's jaw worked overtime conspiring to give her an answer. Should he tell her that Dean had undergone a complete character change, that he had lost a chunk of memories? That somehow he'd changed into the cold blooded killing machine that Kalfu had insinuated. Should he tell her that even he didn't want to admit to how fast Dean had recovered from his wounds? Or that he just didn't feel like his brother at all? And that every night Sam feared that he hadn't quite got his Dean back? That somehow Dean had brought a sizeable chunk of Hell back with him…

He didn't need to answer her. Somehow she knew…

"Where is he?" She demanded.

"Inside the church…" Sam replied. "See for yourself…" His voice trailed off as his fears and thoughts bounced around in his skull like an avalanche. _She was wrong… she had to be!_

As they walked towards the church he could sense her discomfort. Even he had to admit, the place gave him the eerits too. And he didn't actually have a problem with holy ground – if that's what it could possibly still be.

She could certainly still feel Kalfu's presence there, but then her senses felt like they'd been twisted and knotted, turned inside out and eviscerated. There was a sense of confusion about her; of souls and atmosphere in conflict. She didn't know just what to expect. But she did know, for sure, that Kalfu wouldn't just let Dean go, or Sam…

Not unless he got what he came for…

She stepped through the gapping church doors. Devastation and a strong sense of Hell overwhelmed her. And a sudden fear enveloped her, making her gasp with dread. Every nerve ending screamed at her to run, warned her that something was very, very wrong. Evil and hell pulsed through the church in powerful waves.

"So the Bitch, Witch-Whore still lives!" Dean remarked as she entered the church, almost as if he was expecting her. He was standing the the shadows of what remained of the roof.

"Dean?" She queried as she moved into the church.

Dean stepped forwards, into the light. She frowned with disbelief as she gazed at him shaking her head. Ruby backed away with a sudden flash of fear across her face. It wasn't Dean Winchester that terrified her…

"Sam that's…" Ruby turned to Sam. However Sam's attention was focused solely on Dean. The elder Winchester was glaring at Ruby with pure hatred in his eyes. In an instant he had pulled the Colt from his waistband and fired it at Ruby. Instinct had Sam lunge at the demoness just as Dean shot the weapon at her. His impulsive momentum sent them both sprawling across the floor in a flurry of limbs.

Once they finally came to a stop, in a cloud of dust and debris, Sam heaved his superior weight off the lithe, slender blonde. Sam recoiled at the sight of her trembling body; iridescent veining bloomed from the bullet wound in her upper shoulder. She seemed to gag and convulse uncontrollably. Her eyes meet his, with fear and desperation within them.

Dean approached, with the Colt, ready to shoot her again. Sam knelt over her trembling body in a protective gesture.

"Don't!" Sam snarled at him where he hovered.

She clutched at his jacket, pulling herself closer into the safety of his embrace. Sam scooped her up into his arms as she gasped frantically, suddenly desperate to whisper something to him. He lowered his ear to her and she managed to reveal, with her final breaths, what was so vitally important.

"That's… not… Dean…" She whispered in an almost inaudible tone. Sam wasn't even sure he'd heard her, certainly didn't think he had heard her right. "_Dean's… gone! It's Kalf…"_

_She could only speculate Kalfu had decided, for what ever reason, to walk the earth in Dean's form. With Kalfu drained and suffering the effects of the Colt… and with Dean so close to death, it would be the only way Kalfu could survive the possession without resistance from Dean's soul… And in order to steal his body and cast his soul into hell… a Devil's Gate would be the most reliable means… even if it meant abandoning ownership of Dean's soul. _

Sam had enough sense not to let Dean know that she'd said anything at all. Not until he had time to really mull over the significance of it all…

"Ruby hang on." He urged, but that was the problem. The bullet had missed its mark, it wasn't a kill shot. But the longer Ruby remained within her host's body, with the potentially lethally charmed silver bullet imbedded in her shoulder, the more certain it became that Ruby, the demon, would eventually die. For all the suspicion and trepidation he had ever felt for her, he suddenly realized she really had come to mean something to him, demon aside that was. She was a friend and confident like no other, even if he still had reservations about her trustworthiness.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered.

Ruby continued to tremble and panted for breath as iridescent electric waves surged from the wound. She wheezed softly and then shuddered violently in his arms. As her body snapped into rigidity, a black miasma of smoke poured from her mouth and spewed into the room. She made her escape from her now lethal host.

Even before Ruby's spirit had left her host, blood began to seep through the girl's garments as the wounds, both recent and those long healed by Ruby, opened up as fresh as if they'd been inflicted there and then. All the lacerations inflicted upon her by the Hell Hounds, and slashes, grazes and bruises miraculously appeared from far too many battles and altercations. Then, as the girl's eyes snapped open, and the true human owner of the body awoke, she gagged and gasped for breath, as blood swiftly soaked the front of her chest. As quickly as she had awoken, she was silent once more. A fatal bullet wound through her chest had narrowly missed her heart, but had, however, torn through her liver and caused massive internal bleeding; Bobby was one hell of a shot, even if it was well over a year ago…

Dean stared at the couple with loathing in his eyes, resentful that the demon had not died.

As Ruby's essence swirled about the room, then darted towards the open roof Dean began chanting, in something certainly not Latin, but definitely a dead language of some sort. It was a ritual Sam could not recollect having heard before. The smoky haze halted, as if an invisible glass had suddenly sprung up around her, and her escape was halted. As Dean's mantra continued the smoke seemed to dissipate into itself, like a black hole had suddenly been created from within. Dean's focus was so intense Sam could almost have sworn his eyes had caught the sun's final rays, and set them ablaze with rage and abhorrence. He was exorcising her from the face of the Earth…

"No Dean…" Sam pleaded suddenly. At this point she still had a chance, even if it meant finding a new host to possess. "DEAN!" Sam shouted when he ignored him. Sam dropped the body of Ruby's host to the floor and sprang towards him. With a huge lunge Sam tackled Dean and they crashed to the ground. He wrestled the Colt from his hands, but was stunned when Dean started to chuckle contently.

Sam glanced around, just as Ruby's essence folded in on itself and vaporised in a sudden burst of fire. Dean sniggered at his accomplishment. He had successfully exorcised Ruby back into Hell…

Sam howled with anger, shoving Dean aside with brutal strength. "What the hell?" He glared at Dean with pure odium. "Dean, you didn't have to try and kill her!" Sam justified.

Dean's anger exploded instantly. "Like Hell I didn't!" He snapped as he fisted Sam's jacket lapels. "She's a bloody Witch whore! A _Demon_, remember?" He snarled with venom like Sam had never heard before. "A lying, conniving, deceitful demon! She wanted you Sam… wanted to turn you for her own gain… and she'd have led you straight to…" He stopped short, as he reigned in his anger.

"What, to Hell?" Sam demanded. "You saying I'm gonna turn evil?"

"She wanted you to." He snapped back angrily. "At least now she's back where she belongs. It'll take her the next century to fight her way out of the Hell I just sent her to."

"Yeah? And just where, the 'hell', did you pick up that little piece of ancient lingo anyway?" Sam queried with out and utter awe. Dean was hard pressed to remember the basic Rituale Romanum; a piece they must have recited over a hundred times! Or was Ruby right? Was this really his Dean… _or, what had she said_… Kalfu? Sam couldn't bring himself to believe her… After all, Demons lie!

Dean avoided answering Sam. "Doesn't really matter, Sam. She was a _demon;_ a lying, conniving bitch." He demanded instead, deflecting the attention back onto the exorcised demon.

"What?" Sam asked incredulously. "Getting a bit paranoid aren't you? What in hell makes you think that?"

"She did!" Dean snapped angrily, shoving Sam roughly against the wall, his grip still tightly fisted in Sam's jacket. "All she ever wanted to do, was manipulate and confuse you; tried to turn you against me."

"Ease up Dean!" Sam snapped back, trying to force Dean's hands from his jacket, to no avail. "Let go of me!" He demanded angrily.

In honesty, Ruby's final words echoed through his mind. And as much as Sam tried to ignore them, _wanted to ignore them_, they repeated in his thoughts. They gained a little more acceptance with each repetition and even more so with every harsh action dealt against him, and every vile word that was spat from Dean's mouth.

Dean shoved Sam back into the wall behind them, with a loud snap. Sam felt his shoulder blades bruise with the impact, certain the wall had fared no better. Sam kept repeating his objections over and over, to drown away Ruby's accusations. _Demons lie… demons lie… demons lie…_

"She never intended to save… me! She wanted you to herself all along! She wanted you to lead the Legions Sam, with her by your side… She just didn't count on the hounds getting her first!" He smirked.

"No way!" Sam countered, his mind reeling with confusion. "I seriously think you need to cool down." He knew he had to… he knew he need time to think, to get a grip on Ruby's disclosure. Ruby's revelation bounced around his thoughts, reeling in his mind. The accusations screamed in his mind, loud and clear. And Sam knew, if she was right, if he was going to play charades with whomever this Dean imposter was, he had to play hard ball. He was less likely to raise suspicions if he reacted as he would if he was certain the man before him really was his brother. And he still held desperate hope that maybe Ruby and his instincts were wrong.

Dean eventually relinquished his anger, shoving Sam aside as he spun around and stormed out of the church. "I seriously think you need to reassess your allegiances!" He demanded as he stormed out.

Sam was left standing in a dazed stupor. He trembled all over and felt suddenly nauseous. He gazed at the Colt in his hands, the weapon that had almost killed Ruby. Even if he hadn't succeeded, Dean had still managed to eradicate her from their lives. He concealed the weapon safely into his waistband. His attentions were then drawn to the girl, Ruby, if that was the Demon's real name, or her host's he didn't know. She was still slumped on the floor. It seemed strange to think she was dead… again! He wondered if her spirit had survived, and if she would ever escape Hell again. He knelt by her side and tenderly closed her blank gazing eyes. Gently he reclaimed his phone from where it was still grasped in her hand.

oooOOOooo

**Three days later...**

_**Alstonville, MISSOURI**_

"Bobby?" Sam whispered cautiously on his phone.

Dean was nowhere in sight, probably still at the bar Sam speculated, even so he was still guarded. He and Dean had hardly spoken two words to each other since Dominion Springs. And it had been something of a relief to Sam. Sam had been left empty and confused by Ruby's words, and the insinuation was constantly twisting and turning in his mind. He just didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe that Dean wasn't Dean. Not after everything…

And he could easily have pushed the uncertainty from his thoughts if only Dean was behaving like Dean. Only there was hardly a scrap of Dean-ness about him. He still hadn't demanded to take the driver's seat in the Impala. There was no more mullet rock. No more practical jokes… No real recollections of their lives before... something was really off and the more Sam churned Ruby's words around in his thoughts; the more he started to believe her. After their latest kill, or more precisely, Dean's kill, he was almost certain.

Dean had been adamant about a new gig; suspected demonic activity in Alstonville, Missouri, after a string of premature aging cases, all resulting in death, of apparently healthy young men. But three hours: That's all it took for Dean to track the culprit down and exterminate the demon. Again there was no exorcism, he'd used the Colt and with a sniper's accuracy he'd killed the perpetrator, even before they'd established any certainty that the man was actually possessed.

Dean had taken a liking to celebrating too. But there was a heartless callousness about his celebration, without a sliver of remorse for the human life he had once more taken. Dean found a familiar comfort in the seedy strip joints, and dingy bars he now frequented. Sam didn't bother any longer to ask him where he'd been, even when he stayed out all night. Instead he fed his suspicions, and tried desperately to dispel them. Only now he'd run out of plausible excuses for Dean's erratic behaviour.

And Sam was left with an uneasy suspicion. Bobby was the only one he felt he could turn to for advice.

"Sam?" Bobby grunted sleepily, not quite awake enough to realise Sam had called on his own cell phone, or contemplate the possibility that Ruby had actually called him again.

"Yeah, it's me." Sam replied softly.

"What, Sam? Is that you?" The seasoned hunter queried again, as he rubbed sleep's persistent veil from his eyes.

"Yeah…" Sam whispered back, a little louder, in reply.

"What, the hell, time is it?" Bobby demanded grumpily.

"Sorry Bobby, it's nearly three." Sam replied, and he meant in the morning. "Only… Bobby… It's… it's, umm… I'm sorry... it's Dean."

"Sam? What's the matter?" Bobby demanded, now instantly awake. He could read the brothers like a book and he knew by Sam's stilted whisper something was askew.

"There's something… wrong with him." Sam muttered hesitantly.

"What, he's not hurt again?" Bobby demanded nervously, waking up fully.

"Umm… no, not really." Sam replied. "I'm not sure… he's… maybe…"

"What is it Sam, just spit it out for pity's sake!" Bobby demanded impatiently.

"We found Ruby." Sam began to explain. "Dean exorcised her."

"He what?" Bobby sighed.

"Actually, he tried to kill her, with the Colt." Sam clarified. "When I stopped him, he exorcised her."

"Wow... He really did hate her!" Bobby knew the perspective Dean was coming from: Ruby was, after all, a demon! However he had to admit she had done everything in her power, to save Dean. He figured he should at least recognise that much. And he had to give her credit, where credit was due: They had saved Dean, using Ruby's plan. "Why?"

"Honestly, I think because she knew…" Sam replied hesitantly, but wasn't quite able to put his concerns into words.

"Knew what, Sam?" Bobby urged.

Sam sighed in defeat. There was no way around it; he just had to say it. "That he isn't really Dean…" Sam dropped the bombshell; he figured he'd best put it out there, even if it was just to keep Bobby off his back, for not having told him days ago.

"Sam, you been drinking?" Bobby queried. Sam really couldn't hold his liquor; not like the other Winchesters.

"No Bobby, I'm serious." Sam barked. "I really think Dean is possessed… it would explain so much…"

"Possessed?" Bobby just wasn't sure.

"There have been things... I didn't want to believe it at first either, but..." Sam muttered.

"Hmm." Bobby didn't actually seem to agree, but then he didn't outright disbelieve him either. "Possessed?"

"Something's been off about Dean…" Sam continued to explain. "… ever since Kalfu…"

"Yeah…" Bobby hedged to concur. "So, have you tried some holy water or something on him?" Bobby queried, without the expected doubt or antagonism. Wouldn't be the first time a Winchester had been possessed.

"Umm… No… not yet…" Sam admitted; he really had no solid proof.

"Sam…" Bobby drew the query out as he ran the information through his still drowsy thoughts. "Who do you think is possessing him?"

"I umm…" Sam stammered uncertainly. "I'm not sure… Ruby seemed to think… maybe… that Kalfu isn't dead."

"Kalfu?" Bobby went deathly quiet for some time. Sam made no attempt to break the silence. "You think Kalfu's possessed Dean?"

"I'm really not sure…" Sam whispered. "But Bobby… his wounds, they healed so fast. That whole deal with Devoratus… the way he's tracking down and executing demons… The memory loss… everything has been so wrong Bobby. I knew it was... I just didn't want to admit it."

"Yeah…" Bobby agreed. "Actually… I have to agree… I kinda had the same feeling."

"I'll try the holy water." Sam stated nervously, thankful they were in some sort of agreement.

Bobby was quiet again as he contemplated the situation. "No… Maybe not." He eventually decided. "If he really is possessed… and he finds out that you know… it could be too dangerous… especially if it's Kalfu… holy water may not even work on him. Sam you wanna make damned sure that you hold all the cards if, or when, you expose him. We gotta do this right. If Dean is possessed, we gotta be able to pin him down long enough to exorcise him. If you're right, if he is possessed by Kalfu… well, we just gotta do this right is all. You promise me, now Sam…"

"Yeah Bobby." Sam replied. "But how?"

"We'll work it out, you just keep acting like nothing's wrong." Bobby warned. "Only, Sam, I don't understand… if Dean really is possessed by Kalfu, then why hasn't he tried to kill you, kill us both?"

"I don't know. He must have some sort of an agenda." Sam replied. "Or… umm maybe… Ruby mentioned that opening that Devil's Gate and gettin' shot with the Colt, it would take all his energy. Maybe he just isn't strong enough yet."

"Is that so?" Bobby mused.

"Maybe…" Sam muttered. "Umm… and Bobby…"

"Yeah Sam." Bobby sensed Sam hadn't quite revealed the entire gravity of the situation.

"Ruby said…" Again Sam went silent. "She umm…"

"What Sam?" Bobby urged patiently.

"She said that… Dean was gone…" He whispered.

"Gone?" Bobby queried, uncertain as to Sam's inference.

"Yeah. She said Dean was gone." He reiterated.

"Dean's gone?" Bobby repeated, mulling over the significance.

"What do you think she meant?" Sam ventured to query, he had his own horrific thoughts… he hoped Bobby would come up with an alternative interpretation.

"Sure hope it's not what I'm thinking…" Bobby replied, imagining that maybe Dean never climbed out of Hell after all.

"Bobby?" Sam was close to breaking point, if his choked query was any indication.

"Yeah, Sam?" Bobby replied, with almost equal trepidation.

"You think Dean really made it out?" Sam whispered hoarsely, verbalising both their fears. "Of Hell?"

"I sure as hell hope so." Bobby replied, although not at all certain. Bobby mulled the information over in his mind, tossing substantiations and refutations about like a tennis match. Only somehow it all made sense. The complete character change, the memory loss... if Dean really was gone, if a demon possessed him, it wouldn't have anything to go by, no memories or consciousness to tap into. A long silence followed.

"What should I do?" Sam eventually queried.

"Let me think about it." Bobby replied. "I'll make a few calls, see what we can do… see if there's anyway to be sure…"

"You'll let me know?" Sam almost begged. "You'll call me?"

"Yeah, as soon as I can. Sam… you just take care." Bobby replied. "And for your sake, don't let on about any of your suspicions!"

"No Bobby, I won't." Sam sighed.

"Don't do anything until I get back to you." Bobby replied. "For now you be very, very careful."

"I will. Thanks Bobby." Sam sighed as he hung up, relieved that he could share his emotional burden.

oooOOOooo

_**Please R&R… I'd love to know what you think. **_

_**Did you like my conniving? Did you see the evil twist coming?**_

_**Is Dean really Dean? Or is Ruby still playing the brothers?**_

_**I hope you'll take the time to read my next chapter to find out. I'm working on it, but it still needs some polishing… and proofing and editing… **_


	6. Chapter 5

_**A few days later...**_

_**Jumping Jack's Motel.**_

_**Seymour, COLORADO**_

"Bobby might have something. A haunting…" Sam mentioned to Dean a few days later. The elder gazed back at Sam with a bored expression. It seemed lately, if he wasn't killing demons, he just wasn't interested. They had just exterminated another demon... a seemingly harmless, garden variety, mischief type. This one took its pleasure screwing with peoples' sense of perception, making the general public see things like the Easter Bunny, drinking sodas at the local cafe, or fairies in their garden. Sam had been duped into thinking he saw a garden gnome, stalking his every move! Certainly no killings, or gore or frightening head spinning, or pea soup puking at all! How Dean had even found the demon, Sam had no idea. It only made him more certain; Dean (this new Dean) must really have some kind of Demon ESP! Or something more sinister…

"A haunting?" Dean scoffed.

"The old 'Cowboy' cemetery, out in Wyoming. Seems there's a dead cowboy haunting the locals…" Sam enlightened. "Some Wade Calhoun… "

"A ghost?" Dean snipped back unenthusiastically. "Why even waste our time?"

Sam glared at him for a moment. "It's Samuel Colt's cemetery…" Sam mentioned with a mischievous smile. "Could be more than just a ghost out there…"

Dean glared at him. "Samuel Colt's cemetery… with the Devil's Gate?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Sam replied, not overly impressed by Dean's recall. He reminded himself that even if Dean was possessed, Kalfu, or any other demon would know of Samuel Colt's Cemetery too. After all, a whole mass of them escaped Hell from there when Azazel opened the Gates... "Could be a demon of course…"

"No…" Dean replied flatly. "There are those deaths, and some cattle mutilations in Texas, I think it'd be a better choice."

"Well I kinda promised Bobby we'd go check it out." Sam replied stubbornly, reminding himself that he was most likely not negotiating with Dean at all. Even so, he wasn't backing down on this one.

More and more he was convinced Ruby had been right: Right about Dean not being Dean. And the time had come to put him to the test, to finally put an end to his suspicions, one way or another. Sam grinned confidently to himself, though. He'd soon know for sure, and even if Dean really was Dean, the elder Winchester couldn't deny him this little experiment. Because Dean, and Bobby, had faced the same dilemma, when he'd been possessed by Meg...

"Why? Can't the old coot handle it?" Dean demanded with ire.

"Unmarked grave…" Sam muttered in response.

"So what!" Dean scoffed. "Let the old man play Ghostbuster! I'm not!"

"What? Too good for a simple salt and burn, now?" Sam goaded. "It used to be you that had to convince me to do these gigs."

"Maybe I am!" Dean snapped back arrogantly. "Too good, that is."

"Seems a lot has changed since you cheated the Crossroad Demon." Sam stated blankly. "You sure Kalfu didn't mess with your head?" If Dean really was possessed, and the demon wanted to keep his cover, he'd just been shoved into a hard spot.

Dean went silent for a moment. He scowled at Sam, and then grunted in defeat. "Fine."

Sam smiled with victory to himself.

oooOOOooo

_**The following evening,**_

_**Samuel Colt's cemetery,**_

_**WYOMING. **_

The night was cool, with barely a lick of wind in the air. They pulled into the gravel driveway that meandered through the overgrown trees until they reached the dilapidated cemetery. The Impala's headlights illuminated Bobby's pickup, which sat outside already, although Bobby Singer was nowhere to be seen.

"Bobby must be around somewhere." Sam suggested as they exited the Impala.

"Sam, I'm telling you there's nothing here!" Dean snarked angrily turning his back on Sam as the younger opened the boot revealing their small arsenal of weapons. _He_ obviously didn't want to be there. And, for whatever reason, he didn't think the place was haunted; _of course he could have been right about that. _At least, not haunted by anything dangerous… Bobby had created the whole scenario; based everything on an old job… the real Dean would have known that.

"According to the reports, there is." Sam cast back as he passed him a shot gun. "There was a bunch of high school kids…" He'd already explained the alleged background to Dean, and Dean continued to remain speculative, although never once mentioning any similarities to any other hunt.

"What? A pack of scaredy-cat teenagers pissing their pants 'cause the bushes went bump!" Dean grunted. "I'm telling you, they're wrong!"

"Got 'Ghost ESP' now too?" Sam goaded defiantly, slamming the Impala's boot closed in exclamation. _Just how could he be so adamant? _It certainly had Sam bothered that Dean seemed to know things lately, like where the demons were, and apparently he knew where ghosts lurked as well… or didn't!"What about the reports of a cowboy riding the property, from that middle-aged couple? The one about a cowboy, shooting at them, from behind the tombstones?" Sam objected. His doubts had definitely swelled over the past few days; doubts about Dean really being Dean. The eldest Winchester hadn't even attempted to confirm Bobby's bogus data, and yet he persisted in refuting every fact. The real Dean had enough sense to back his doubts with reasonable proof. Even if Dean was a reluctant researcher at the best of times, he'd have wanted the nitty-gritty before so adamantly debunking the entire situation. But then the real Dean should have recalled the hunt Bobby had based all his information on; just how extensive could post traumatic amnesia possibly be?

But then, even Sam couldn't make his mind up. Dean just didn't seem like Dean any more, especially with his new found demon-tracking radar, and apparently 'ghostie-sense' as well! But if Dean really was a demon and Kalfu no less, then why was he still breathing? Why hadn't the demon taken any one of innumerable opportunities to kill both he and Bobby? All Dean had killed so far were demons, and although they had been cold blooded, heartless executions, it was nothing they hadn't had to do before… And even Sam knew that Kalfu wouldn't simply be waiting to get his strength back; if he could exterminate demons with barely any effort at all, killing both he and Bobby certainly wouldn't pose any great difficulty. Humans were, after all, far easier to kill than a demon…

"So what? Anybody getting killed? Or hurt even?" Dean continued as they walked into the cemetery.

"Well lately, I didn't think that was a prerequisite for a hunt…" Sam snapped, loaded with accusation in regards to the mischief demon. "If it's shooting at people, it's only a matter of time…"

"You'll be waiting a while!" Dean shot back adamantly.

"Well there might be something else…" Sam added.

"There's nothing here Sam." Dean stated, with far too much confidence. "Nothing worth worrying about!"

"How can you be so sure?" Sam baited. "There might still be demons lurking, close to the Devil's Gate…"

"No there aren't!" He snapped back abruptly.

"You're so sure, are you?" Sam goaded with irritation. _How, the hell, could he possibly be so sure? _He wondered. With his doubts on the rise, almost everything Dean did and said made him even more suspicious. He was about ready to shower his brother in holy water and demand the truth. _Was he really Dean?_

"What, the hell, would a demon still be doing here?" Dean demanded, opting for a logical response. "A Devil's Gate's only good for getting' out of! Hell's the last place a demon's gonna wanna go back to! Besides, a demon's gotta find a host, and they prefer easy, living prey… not hundred year old corpses! Too hard to reanimate, let alone integrate into the living without suspicions! Trust me there ain't no demons here either!"

Sam had to admit; It was an excellent response, and e_ven Dean could have figured that out for himself… still, how could he be so certain?_

"I'm not so sure…" Sam speculated with inference. He couldn't shake that little voice of doubt, nagging at him in the back of his thoughts. He still had an inkling he was looking at one right now!

"I am!" Dean snapped back, a little irked by Sam's apparently flippant comment. He gave Sam a wary frown.

"I'm sure we'll see pretty soon…" Sam alluded as he swiftly strode away in search of Bobby, wondering if he'd unwittingly revealed his uncertainties. _Best get on with it before Dean really did get suspicious!_ "Only we better find Bobby, we got about a half hour before Calhoun's likely to appear. Why don't you check down that way? I'll check over here."

"No." Dean stated flatly, shouldering his shotgun and turning to head back to the Impala. He had made no excuses for not wanting to join up with Bobby again, and now he seemed defiantly certain of it.

"What is wrong with you lately?" Sam snapped at him. Sam knew that maybe Dean was a little suspicious now, and certainly more than a little irritated by this hunt. But he was so close… he couldn't let Dean walk away now.

"Nothing, I just can't see why we should be chasing shadows, when there's an army of demons amassing in an attempt for total dominance!" Dean snapped back. "Isn't that a little more important?"

"Yeah, it is…" Sam had to admit, it was a good comeback. "Only, tell me Dean, do you know where they are? How many? What they're doing? Oh that's right, you've got some kind of Demon ESP now… some little trick you souvenired after your near incarceration in Hell, is it? Maybe we can make a Samuel Colt special machine gun and annihilate them all! If we can just find Bobby we can start that war!"

Dean glared back at him, his teeth ground together as he contemplated the wisecrack. "I don't need ESP to know things… And I know there's definitely some demonic activity in Texas…" He admitted. "...but certainly not here!"

"Demons in Texas? You've hardly read a newspaper and you haven't so much as switched the laptop on, or listened to a news report; so tell me Dean, you know this for sure, how?" Sam retorted angrily, prepared to push whatever buttons he needed to goad Dean into compliance; his growing suspicions lurked behind his accusations. Contradictory doubts flashed through his thoughts… _If Dean really was possessed by a demon, if he was Kalfu, why hadn't he just vaporised him yet? Damn, he was confused… big time!_

"It's just a hunch…" Dean backtracked noticeably, with a steely restraint in his glare. "It'll wait, I suppose." If he wasn't Dean, he wasn't about to risk revealing himself… not just yet.

"Well, we're here now, so let's just find Bobby!" Sam spat, sure he'd almost caught him out. "You can tell him all about your… _hunches_!"

"Fine, I'll check… over here!" He pointed in the direction Sam had already urged him to go.

Dean moved down the rickety isles of tombstones and timber crucifixes with reckless disregard for the aged, rotting timber, and crumbling granite and marble, even going as far as to deliberately kicking the grave markers over with his hefty, steel-capped boots in irritation. Despite the darkness he didn't turn his torch on, stepping into the shadows until they consumed him entirely. His eyes scanned the pitch black, with an intense scour. He moved silently across the gravel pathway.

"Bobby?" He muttered upon glimpsing the seasoned hunter standing cautiously in the distance, despite standing in the dark. He was leaning against a mausoleum, peering into the shadows, attempting to see him.

"Dean?" Bobby replied, as his eyes made out Dean's darkened silhouette some meters away.

"Tryin' to hide, Bobby?" Dean queried. "Ghost's can see in the dark, you know."

"Yeah, I know… just got here." Bobby replied in way of explanation. "I'm trying to fire up my lantern; flashlights have a tendency to fail, just when you need them the most." _Especially when there's a demon about, using his powers…_ He thought to himself._ "_Gotta say, though, you got pretty good eyesight in the dark, Dean." He added with a hint of accusation in his tone.

"Could say the same for you… Bobby." Dean retorted tensely. He approached cautiously, almost certainly suspecting something was amiss…

"I sense you're not real keen on this gig…" Bobby commented, unpacking a collection of items from the duffle bag at his feet. They remained in darkness, the night's dark moon obstinately refusing to offer them even the smallest hint of illumination.

"I think you're hunting a ghost, that doesn't exist!" Dean snapped back. He had better things to do than play ghostbuster to a non-existent ghost. He had a whole world before him, to do with as he pleased…

"Why's that?" Bobby challenged. He had a hankering to push the hunter; just enough to see if he could get him to unwittingly reveal an indication… either way. He knew Dean would never deal out such a contradiction without some solid proof. Even so, he hoped, with every fibre in his body, that Dean really was Dean Winchester. He truly wished this hunt was one destined to fail…

"Maybe it just doesn't feel right." Dean replied tersely. He paused in his advance, sensing Bobby's antagonism. _Nothing, just now, felt right._

Their brief standoff was interrupted by Sam as he hedged down around a mausoleum, with caution, with torch in one hand, the Colt in the other.

"Bobby…" Sam muttered as he strode up to the seasoned hunter. They exchanged a brief glance of support and fortitude. It was a silent, fleeting look between the two hunters that noticeably omitted Dean.

Dean's attentions snapped from one hunter, to the other. He could read their expressions like an open book. They'd plotted and planned and connived together. He knew that now, as he continued to gaze from one to the other suspiciously.

"So… somebody wanna tell me what, the hell, is going on?" Dean demanded anxiously.

"Just have to wait for Calhoun to make an appearance…" Sam replied casually. "See if we can't find his grave so we can salt and burn him."

"Can't see that we all need to be here for that!" Dean snapped back in annoyance.

"Probably not, but there's something else…" Bobby replied as he turned a gas lantern on by his side.

"Like what?" Dean demanded impatiently.

"Just a little experiment." Bobby smiled with insinuation.

"What? Damn it Sam, what are we doing here?" Dean barked with irritation.

"Actually, it's an exorcism." Sam replied, seemingly to Dean's surprise. Sam strode up towards Dean.

"A what?" Dean demanded nervously, glancing from Sam to Bobby and back again. "Who?"

"You." Sam informed him, desperately keeping his massing emotions and the doubts that were churning within him, on a tight leash. Nervously he aimed the Colt at the man who resembled his brother…

Dean took a step back cautiously, both shocked and wary of the Colt, aimed smack at his chest. "Damn it Sam, what the hell?" Dean frowned with trepidation, his gaze wavering between Sam and Bobby, until it eventually fell upon the older.

Bobby smiled and nodded to the ground. Dean was horrified to realize he was standing in a devil's trap, only just hidden beneath a layer of gravel. For good measure Bobby began circling him, spreading a line of salt around him.

"This some kind of a joke?" Dean shouted angrily. "You mad old coot!" He raised his shotgun and aimed it at Bobby, surprised when he squeezed the trigger with no result.

"It's not loaded…" Sam leered in explanation. Dean would have checked to see that the shotgun was loaded out of habit alone; their dad had drilled that precaution into them both since the day dot!

Dean glared at Sam, then back at Bobby, as he tried apprehensively to step over the trap. However he was unable to exit, ensnared by the devil's trap and salt. "I'm not possessed!" He stated adamantly.

"Then by all means step out." Sam snarked.

Dean was visibly shaken. "I can't…" He muttered. "Damn it, I was in Hell, sold my soul… maybe that's why!" He implored. "It's really me! Dean!"

"I really hope so… We'll soon find out." Sam replied as he passed the Colt to Bobby, who remained by Sam's side with a vigilant demeanour. Sam took his exorcism ritual out from his jacket pocket. "You know we gotta be sure… This shouldn't hurt at all if you really are Dean…"

"You're kidding aren't you?" Dean muttered warily.

"_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei_." Sam began reciting the Latin rite. He didn't actually need his journal; he knew it verbatim, however it helped him to keep his place should the possible demon distract him. And when it was Dean standing in front of him he strongly suspected he would get distracted.

"Damn you Sam… Don't you know it's me?" Dean snarled angrily. "What kind of brother are you?"

"_Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus…"_ Sam paused briefly in his recital. "One that knows his brother pretty damned well!" he challenged. "_Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus…_"

"I don't think so…" Dean smirked.

"We'll soon find out…" Sam replied.

"I'm sure you will…" Dean simply laughed at their feeble attempt to restrain him. With a grim scowl and a wave of his hand the salt was blown away. Fire burned in his eyes, as the demon within revealed himself. Then, as he began to mutter his own incantation, a crack appeared between his feet, and proceeded to move towards the Devil's Trap symbol, sure to destroy their only means of keeping him contained. The ground beneath them all shuddered and vibrated with an intense quiver, until both Bobby and Sam staggered with the force of the mini-quake that was ripping the earth apart.

"Shit!" Bobby cursed as he glared at Sam. "I thought you said he was weak!"

Sam's face dropped as he contemplated the obvious.

"Underestimate the situation somewhat?" Dean smirked confidently, as the fracture through the soil and gravel continued to inch towards the Devil's trap.

"No… not at all." Bobby retorted as he cocked the Colt. Sam was horrified as he watched Bobby shoot his brother in the thigh with the revolver. The force of the shot thrust Dean to the ground with a surprised shriek of pain. The growing expanse of the demon's crevasse had thankfully been halted, at least for the moment.

"Bobby! What the hell?" Sam screamed with horror, the will to stop the older hunter injuring Dean, far greater than his understanding of his intent. Sam tackled Bobby with all his strength, his arms encircling the seasoned hunter, as they stumbled away from Dean with a lung bruising force.

"Damn it Bobby!" Sam pleaded. He gripped the older hunter in a firm grasp, fearful of the injury he had inflicted on Dean. "What are you doing? Dean…"

"You need any more proof that's _not _Dean, Sam?" Bobby demanded angrily. As far as Sam knew, Dean could never control the elements of wind or earth.

"It's still him… somewhere." Sam justified.

"Sam, I'm sorry." Bobby explained. "But if he gets away now, we're both dead. _And so is Dean!_ Ain't no turning back now!" Bobby was deadly serious. "Remember Sam, we only got one option here; we gotta do this! And we do it right. And we do it now!"

Sam glanced at Dean's writhing form, as he struggled in pain with the gunshot. Smoke hissed from the wound as Dean snarled abuse at both hunters. Flashes of red and gold burst from his thigh, as electrical pulses jarred the writhing demon within, with repeated convulsions. Sam had his undeniable proof and Bobby his undisputable logic…

Slowly Sam made his way to Dean's side, studying his supposed brother with meticulous intent. And he knew now for sure… had all along if he'd only listened to his inner suspicions more closely…

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam demanded as he towered over the squirming figure of his brother. "Kalfu?"

At first there was a long pause, but even the demon knew his charade had been exposed, and yet he made no attempt to escape the now lethal body of Dean Winchester…

Kalfu!Dean laughed in response.

"Well now, gives tha boy a prize! Next Messiah, my ass! T'was Ruby, weren't it?" Kalfu!Dean demanded in his distinctive dialect. "The witch whore gaves me aways, didn't she? But I gots her good! An' I'll be gettin' tha' bitch, once an' for all… alls in due course… I'lls kill her _eventually_, and if'n I haves ta… you too, Samuel!"

"Well, she was right, wasn't she?" Sam snapped back with irritation.

"Ignore him Sam." Bobby warned as he made his way to Sam's side. He knew far too well how manipulating and conniving demons were. Knew that Kalfu had very nearly succeeded in fooling them both… and he knew Kalfu would try and needle himself under Sam's skin with whatever leverage he could muster.

Bobby fixed their salt circle, and checked the integrity of the Devil's Trap. Still firmly ensnared, Kalfu also seemed to be incapacitated by the Colt's bullet. If he really was weakened, the Colt must surely have undermined him further.

"Well I'll be… damned… ya actually gone and trusted her!" Kalfu!Dean chuckled as he taunted the mystified Sam. "Oh, I neva gives her credit for how truly schemin' and cunnin' shes really was! Oh, Samuel, she's actually gone an' made ya her very own Bitch! Ya ain't no Prince of Hell, ya ain't nothin' but a fool Samuel… if'n ya thinka ya can _trust_her… an' Ruby done knew it… She's surely mighty connivin' an' manipulatin'…" Kalfu!Dean laughed maniacally, cringing slightly with the discomfort of the gunshot. "All hails tha Queen of tha Underworld… tha Witch-whore, Ruby… an' at her feet, be her enslaved helot; the darned gullible Samuel Winchester! Pity ya mistress is back 'n Hell, probably partyin' withs ya brother... withs Dean… as'n he burns! He's a screamin' Samuel… jus' like a stuck pig!" Kalfu!Dean rolled his eyes and licked his lips as if he were imagining a roast diner…

"Shut up!" Sam snapped back resentfully. Kalfu was right, the truth hurt; he did trust her... had trusted her... and only now did he wonder what her motives really were. He stomped his boot over the gunshot wound to Kalfu!Dean's thigh vindictively, in retaliation, just to make the demon quit taunting him. Kalfu!Dean hissed in pain. The gunshot gave off a typically demonic pyrotechnic display, as electrical waves pulsed through his thigh from the wound.

"There's tha 'Messiah' we all been waitin' for!" Kalfu!Dean snarled with a victorious grin, obviously in pain. "Tha real Prince… Let him loose an' feel tha power… Cans ya feel tha darkness? Tha cold, ice ofs ya heart… tha hate, tha anger, tha fury; all bustin' its way outta ya guts? Is tha _real _Samuel Winchester's clawin' hisself to tha surface? Tha powerful, unadulterated Prince of Evil may jus' emerge yet…"

"Shut… Up!" Sam sneered again, wishing the Colt's bullet would hurry up and do it's job, however Kalfu was strong, and seemed capable of resisting its mystical powers, even if only just.

"Truth hurts, Samuel?" Kalfu!Dean sniggered. "Ya shoulds just lets tha true Samuel Winchester come outs ta play! Open ya'self to tha supreme power… Or is ya nothin' but a cow'dly impostor, hiding ahind ya brother's strength, alls this time?"

"Shut, the hell, up!" Sam screamed angrily… fighting those very same urges, turning his back on Kalfu!Dean… on the possible truth of the demon's accusations.

"Show ya true self Samuel!" Kalfu!Dean goaded. "Come outs, come outs, where eva ya ares…"

"Perhaps _you _should show your real self!" Bobby interceded with a snarl. He splashed Dean with holy water, however he was not rewarded with a response. But then, in all honesty, he hadn't actually expected one either, not if Kalfu had possessed him. He was too powerful a demon…

"Satisfied?" Kalfu!Dean leered defiantly, like a conceited Cheshire Cat. "Ya old fool!"

Unperturbed, Bobby dosed Dean with more Holy water, and muttered a command in Latin. "_Ego imperare tu, Kalfu! Aperire tuus hospes!_" Instead he demanded Kalfu allow Dean to surface. "I command you Kalfu! Reveal your host!"

Bobby repeated the action of dousing Kalfu!Dean with more holy water. The liquid bubbled and hissed as it made contact with the gunshot wound, and Kalfu!Dean flinched back with the pain. Kalfu!Dean forced a retaliative laugh. "He's a long gones! He's bein' tormented somethin' gruesome… in Hell!" He sniggered maliciously. "Bu' only bys tha best… only at tha hands of Hell's most 'steemed torturers! He's a screamin' Samuel, as'n tha flesh is hacked off'n him... an' as his bones be snapped like kindlin'… an' tha fires of Hell burn away his soul… An' t'was you put him there, Samuel! Damned him fa all 'ternity, ta Hell…"

"Answer me!" Bobby interrupted Kalfu angrily. "_Ego imperare tu, Kalfu! Aperire tuus hospes!_" Bobby repeated his demand, dousing Kalfu!Dean with more of the holy water, and pressing a crucifix against Kalfu!Dean's forehead. Kalfu!Dean shrieked unwittingly with the acerbic bite of the blessed, pure water, and flinched from the searing contact with the cross. He was weakening…

"Looks like you're screaming now!" Sam retorted angrily.

"Oh, believes me Samuel… Dean's a one screamin'…" Kalfu!Dean chuckled again defiantly. "… an' wailin'… an' cryin' likes a baby… from the deepest, darkest, torture dungeons in tha pits of Hell!"

"I command you!" Bobby persisted furiously. "_Ego imperare tu, Kalfu! Aperire tuus hospes!"_Bobby repeated his demand, with authoritive venom in his voice. He splashed Kalfu!Dean with the remaining holy water, and doused him with a handful of salt. The demon cowered with the consecrated attack. Sam had been right, Kalfu must have been weakened, and combined with the Colt's bullet, and now the holy water and salt; the demon was beginning to unravel.

"He's a GONE!" Kalfu!Dean yelled furiously, succumbing to Bobby's demands. "Dean Winchester is in Hell!"

Bobby nodded, seemingly accepting of Kalfu's response.

"You take it from here?" Bobby queried Sam. "We gotta get this done!"

"Oh, yeah!" Sam nodded confidently, with more than a little vengeance behind his declaration.

Bobby held the Colt to Kalfu!Dean's temple as Sam kneeled over the demon, planting his knee on the demon's chest and pinning him to the ground. Dean!Kalfu glared suspiciously at him as Sam pulled his hunting knife from his hip sheath.

"Ya ainst gonna shoot Dean… ainst gonna cuts up ya brotha eiva!" Kalfu!Dean blurted, with obvious trepidation. Sam knew then the demon was weak, just as Ruby had assumed, by the fear reflected in his darting eyes. Kalfu!Dean made no attempt to defend himself, but then it was only Dean, or more precisely Dean's body, that was at any risk. The knife couldn't possibly pose any risk to the demon within, not like the Colt could, and the shot hadn't as yet forced the demon from Dean's body either… Sam pondered the possibility the demon was reluctant to abandon Dean's body, or simply didn't have the strength to survive if he did…

Sam lunged forward with his hunting knife, as he reached out and grabbed Dean's amulet in his grasp. With one swift thrust he cut it free from Kalfu!Dean's neck and then swiftly passed it to Bobby.

Bobby nodded as he dangled Dean's valued possession from his fingers. "Now we do this…" He muttered to Sam with firm resolve, as he moved away, clasping Dean's precious talisman tightly in his grasp. He was swiftly swallowed by the night's cloak of black as he moved towards the mausoleum, on the other side of the cemetery clearing.

His figure came back into view as he lit a candle at his feet and the hunter's silhouette was haloed by the flickering orange glow. Bobby had come to a stop before Samuel Colt's huge towering crypt. At the entrance he had formed a sigil on the ground of his own; mapped out in stark white salt. He dropped Dean's amulet into a small silver chalice that he placed in the centre of the symbol. The small urn was already filled with a number of ingredients. Bobby had carefully prepared the mixture with a base of Oil of Abramelin and a concoction of specific herbs; acacia, dandelion, wormwood and sweetgrass. It required only one further, vital addition… Without hesitation he retrieved his knife from his sheath and swiftly ran the cool, surgically sharp, blade across his palm and allowed the chalice to fill with sacrificial blood. It dripped quickly into the cup. He wound a handkerchief around the wound once he had finished. He knelt by the short round white candle, placed beside the chalice, around which he had wound a length of silver chain, procured from a necklace. With nervous, trembling hands he opened his own leather bound compendium of rituals, that he began reciting from, by candle light.

"_In nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti."_ Bobby chanted with eloquent precision. "_Ego evocare Spiritus Dean Winchester. Ego imperare liberare eius spiritus. Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem liberare hoc plasmate Dei…_" However Bobby's words differed slightly to Sam's. Bobby's ritual was a summoning rite.

Kalfu!Dean grew nervous as he realized the potency of Bobby's ritual. "This ainst gonna work…" he snarled at Sam. "Ya ain't never gonna gets him back!"

"Yes, we will!" Sam replied coolly. Even if doubts and fears welled deep within, he'd never allow Kalfu to know. He'd learnt that much at least from Dean: Remain stoic and immune to all their threats and accusations. "_Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei Dean, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum…_" Sam continued with his exorcism.

Kalfu!Dean groaned with discomfort. The combination of the ritual and the Colt's bullet was having a devastating effect upon the demon…

"No… don't!" Kalfu!Dean spat desperately. "I cans tells ya whats ya wants to know." He bargained frantically. "Abouts ya ma, abouts ya…"

"And why should I believe you?" Sam demanded vehemently. "Demons lie!"

"Cause'n ya wants ta know!" Kalfu!Dean chortled far too optimistically.

"Not from you!" Sam muttered.

"I cans tells ya why Azazel wanted ya so bad!" Kalfu!Dean persisted.

"Azazel's dead!" Sam retorted. "It doesn't really matter why…"

"T'was cause'n ya powers… An' I cans make ya invincible!" Kalfu!Dean claimed. "We cans be a mighty force; ov the world, an' Hell! We can make 'em all bow afore us!"

"Talk about delusions of grandeur!" Sam snapped snidely.

"No Samuel, ya be tha next great power. Ya haves strength an' abilities like'n no other. And I has tha 'mbition ta conquer. Wid you by my sides, as'n my right hands man, you 'n' me's be unconquerable!" Kalfu!Dean declared.

"I don't have any abilities." Sam declared stubbornly. "Not any more…"

"Jus'n 'cause ya finally learned ta control 'em, hows ta turn 'em off' ain't means they's gone!" Kalfu!Dean clarified.

Sam wondered if Kalfu was speaking truths, or simply hoping to delay him, just long enough, that he'd be able to escape the Colt's charmed power. Or was this exactly why Kalfu hadn't, as yet, killed him? Did Kalfu actually hope he could succeed in turning him into some Prince of Hell and create an ally in his bid for demonic dominance? But more importantly… Did he really have powers?

"No, once Azazel died. His powers died too." Sam snapped back. He didn't want to have any part of Azazel's demonic powers.

"Fool Boy! Ya powers ain't ever a'cause ov Azazel!" Kalfu!Dean chuckled at Sam's ignorance. "They's justs why he wanted ya so fierce. Ain't ya asked hows ya got tha Colt, hows it jus' jumped up inta ya hand, back in Domini'n Springs? Ya sure didn't reach for it Samuel… ya mind did! You's differen' Samuel… Sam… an' I'm s'spectin' even ya knows it." Kalfu!Dean smirked, implying that he knew so much more. "We coulds be mighty great 'agether."

"Never gonna happen." Sam rebutted.

"Ya ain't no idea ofs ya p'tential, buts I cans teach ya." Kalfu!Dean enticed. "Ya just needs ta open yaself ta ya true powers… jus' needs some'ne to guides ya… and who better'n ya _brother_ ta do that? If'n that dammed whore hadn't 'nterfered! Ya wouldn't even'na known!"

"Don't delude yourself, I knew you weren't Dean." Sam snapped back.

"Maybe, deeps down… but, ya was so desperate ta have 'im back you'da convinced yaself otherwise." Kalfu!Dean smirked. "And I'da filled his shoes real fine."

"You seriously think I'd have allowed myself to be duped?" Sam rebuked with false bravado. And now it bothered him, because he seriously _had _hoped, despite all the signs, that he really was Dean…

"Ya already had, an' more an willingly. 'Tils Ruby came 'long." Kalfu!Dean frowned angrily. "Ya human's… ya so gullible! Jus'n like Dean. Darned fool sold 'is soul ta save ya… ta bring back the ups an' comin' Prince a Hell! He was sorely cheated, thinkin' ya'd never turn… an' he 'ccepted ya back, with'n his whole heart, an' from tha dead, no less! An' after a demon r'surrected ya! Kinda _Biblical _ain't it Samuel?"

"I am not a Prince of Hell! Dean was right. I've _never_gone darkside." Sam snapped in his own defence, angry at Kalfu's insinuations. "And I _never_ will!"

"Darkside? Maybes not yet… but Samuel… ya came close!" Kalfu!Dean interrupted. "An' believe'n me, after ya little… r'surrection ya was even closer 'gain… Jus' a little nudge, in tha right d'rection an'…" He 'clicked' his fingers to complete the remainder as he winked confidently. The Colt's bullet was taking its toll on the demon and his words were becoming more forced and slightly stilted. "Ya's close now Samuel… ta becoming ya true self! Can ya taste… tha tang of'n the grand power… that skulks deep inside ya, Samuel? Azazel may 'ave failed… ta change ya... An' once Dean darn killed 'im… ya was up for the takin' Samuel… ta who ever could turns ya… An' believes me, I can! I can sense ya real self, Samuel… The darkness in ya heart… is impatient an' hungry ta be released… All tha tribulations that infect your soul… all so desperate ta be unleashed… ta achieve their full potential… "

"No!" Sam glared at him, now even more determined to continue with the exorcism. "_Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo…_"

"Dean's gone." Kalfu!Dean sniggered. "What da ya think… you'll 'ccomplish?" He was desperate to halt Sam's spiel.

"Bobby's getting Dean back… right now!" Sam smiled confidently.

"He's in Hell, Samuel!" Kalfu!Dean laughed with amusement. "Time ainn't exactly… follow ta ya… Earthly standards, not downs there… He's been 'ncarcerated… for a whole eternity… Samuel… He's so twisted… an' tortured… you'll be beggin' me… ta take his place…"

It was apparent that Kalfu!Dean was becoming distressingly uncomfortable. When Sam splashed holy water upon him, Kalfu!Dean cringed in pain from the acerbic liquid. Sam's heart broke, fearing he was inflicting the same pain on his brother. And yet he hoped he was, hoped Dean was still imprisoned somewhere in his body, and not in Hell at all. For it was far easier than fighting away the fear that he would never get his brother back.

"Never!" Sam snapped at him. "_Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem."_

"Just what… d'ya think… you'll get back?.. Ain't gonna be… Dean." Kalfu!Dean snarled manically. "He don't… exist no more… By now… there be so many…. Wan' retribution… He's been purged… of everythin'… that ya calls ya brother… his spirit's been… stripped 'pletely clean… an' the fires of Hell 'emselves… have burned 'way his humanity… from'n his soul… in a cleansing ya could never, ever… begins ta imagine."

Dean!Kalfu glared at Sam defiantly, with a leer of victory. He had after all sent Dean there…

"_In odorem suavitatis_…" Sam continued and Kalfu!Dean hissed with pain and snarled a string of explicit obscenities at his exorcist.

oooOOOooo

Bobby felt as the ground beneath his feet began to shudder, and Samuel Colt's Devil's Gate began to radiate an intense heat. He hadn't quite expected that, although he wasn't exactly sure what to expect, he'd never summoned a spirit out of Hell before. He had certainly never had the gumption to open a Gate to Hell to break someone out before either. The silver chalice rocked and teetered as the earth trembled, threatening to spill its bloody contents across the ground. He persisted with the rite, amazed that it was apparently working. He had the Colt ready, although he was still hesitant at using it – to actually open the Devil's Gate. They would be up against almost unbeatable odds!

At that moment Kalfu!Dean screamed with rage, still from within the confines of the Devil's trap. He tried to thrash out at Sam, like a wild animal. However Sam did not waver, his focus solely on his exorcism and on getting his Dean back.

The demon panted breathlessly, close to extermination if he remained in Dean's now toxic body for any length of time. However, Kalfu was not about to be out done. In desperation he shoved his fingers into the gunshot wound and, in an act Sam hoped would be futile, Kalfu!Dean sought to remove the offending bullet. His fingers delved deep into the bloody gore of Dean's thigh, without success. However, Kalfu wasn't about to give up. He hovered his fingers over the wound and grinned malevolently. Without so much as taking his eyes of Sam, Kalfu opened the wound up by will alone, with surgical-like precision, until a gapping gash appeared crossed Dean's thigh.

"Shit! Stop it!" Sam demanded. "Or I swear I'll…"

"Whats? Kill me?" Kalfu grimaced in pain and swayed precariously from where he sat, sprawled within the confines of the Devil's Trap, before resuming his malevolent glare. He laughed at Sam, as he plunged his fingers back into the now gaping wound, resorting to ripping the flesh apart with his bare hands, until he could pluck the slug out with ease. He laughed with triumph at withdrawing the toxic bullet as blood surged up from the wound in protest. "Yous gonna kill Dean too?"

Sam doused him with holy water in retaliation, and confirmation of his threat. Kalfu!Dean grimaced with pain, however remain defiant. The demon's energy was thankfully waning, and the task had taken a great deal of effort.

"I'lls rip his body… ta shreds… afore ya… gets me out!" Kalfu!Dean threatened with sadistic glee, realising his advantage. He raised the charmed bullet up in his bloody fingers and smiled victoriously at Sam, attempting to taunt the hunter's confidence even further. Despite his desperate act of salvation, the demon within continued to steadily wane. He panted breathlessly, and increasingly he showed signs of hazy consciousness. He was swiftly weakening.

Sam glared at him with loathing, now fearful the demon would continue to violate Dean's body in way of blackmail and leverage. However, nothing was going to stop him exorcising Kalfu from Dean's body. There was no way Dean was coming back so long as Kalfu possessed his body. So, for better or worse, Kalfu was going to be exiled back into Hell. And Sam knew if Bobby could summon Dean back, even if Dean's body died, at least his soul would be set free. Hopefully to go to a better place…

"Tu autem effugare…" Sam continued with determination, dousing him further with holy water.

Dean!Kalfu's head slouched to his chest. At first there was complete silence. Sam gazed at their captive with inquisitiveness. Kalfu!Dean appeared to have lost consciousness, he sat, slumped lifelessly, slouched forward upon the ground. Sam feared he had possibly gone into a trance… summoning more strength. Or he had simply succumbed to the Colt's bullet, or the exorcism… Just as Sam began to hope that it was over, Kalfu!Dean began to laugh, in a disturbingly vindictive manner. Sam watched in horror as Kalfu!Dean raised his head. He took several deep breaths, composing himself for something Sam knew was going to drain him…

The demon lifted Dean's wrist up in front of Sam. His hand was already coated in rich red blood that was steadily seeping through the fabric of his jacket sleeve. The Hell Hounds' puncture wounds and lacerations had burst open, as raw and fresh as the day they had been inflicted, and soaked his sleeve with blood. Then as Kalfu clenched his fist tight, he twisted Dean's savaged hand inwards until Sam could hear the bones snapping. As Sam continued to watch in dumbfounded dismay, the laceration across his brother's brow opened and crimson streamed from the wounds covering Dean's face, although it was still Kalfu's maniacal grin that was plastered, ear-to-ear, beneath.

The sickening sight forced Sam to pause, glaring with incredulity at Kalfu!Dean in repulsion. Helplessness swamped him, almost crushing him in one underhanded blow of emotional leverage. He gasped suddenly, not having realised he was holding his breath, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

"…_diabole; appropinquabit enim judicium Dei."_ Sam persisted, with a voice that quivered and grew dry and hoarse, no louder than a whisper.

"My hounds… left 'im… dyin'!" Kalfu!Dean threatened. "An' that's 'sactly hows I'll be leavin' 'im if'n ja persists!"

To add further influence to his claims, blood began to seep through Dean's jeans leg, from thigh to calf, adding to the crimson stain from the gunshot wound. And even more blood gushed from his shoulder, saturating Dean's shirt and the gauze pad that still covered Devoratus's burn, with a swift red bloom. Every wound the demon had healed was reappearing with savage déjà vu.

"Afore… I'ms gone… 'is body will be… mutilated! Dean'll be well 'n' truly _dead_!" Kalfu!Dean sniggered. Sam was sure he could hear as Dean's ribs started to snap, slowly in succession. Kalfu!Dean laughed as blood spewed from Dean's mouth, erupting like a crimson explosion.

Bobby was startled by the ferocity of the exorcism, and even more so by the bloody remains Kalfu was intent on leaving behind. His recital of the summoning ritual became more desperate, he was mere seconds from completing the rite... "_In nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti." _

As he completed reciting the rite Bobby shoved the Colt into Samuel Colt's Devil's Gate lock and turned the specially made key. The locks rotated and turned, in unison, clicking in mechanical accord, until the entire door snapped open.

"_Ego evocare Spiritus Dean Winchester_…" Bobby demanded Dean appear before him.

Thin tendrils of black smoke licked out from the restrained crack in the door. Bobby panicked when howls and screams, and fiery, clawing creatures became visible as they clamoured their way towards the opening, trying to make their way out of the small chasm. He'd opened the Devil's Gate, just like Jake had. And damned if he'd be the one to let another hundred Demons escape! He hoped Ruby's theories had been true. That the multitude of demons only escaped last time because they were expecting the Gate to be opened. This time would be unexpected, and hopefully none of the true demons would make their way out before they could summon Dean back to claim his body. And hopefully all that would escape would be Dean…

Bobby leaned on the huge Devil's Gate, only allowing the smallest crack of an opening, hoping desperately to contain the soul he'd willingly allow to escape, to that of only Dean. As the entities within forced their way up and slammed against the door Bobby fought to keep them from smashing their way out. He struggled to keep the door closed but for the smallest chink. He certainly wasn't confident that the crude line of rock salt he'd laid at the threshold could imprison any but the lowest echelon demons. He certainly hadn't expected more than one soul to be able to escape, and now he feared many more may be on their way up.

Bobby's heart raced as he considered ceasing the ritual. He promptly discarded his notion of being able to control just who could escape. He hadn't contemplated that his rite could open the gates of Hell to all and sundry. He fought to keep the gate closed, to encumber any possibility of a full fledged demonic escape.

ooOoo

"_Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum…"_ Sam persisted with determination, blocking the image of his mutilated brother from his thoughts in order to continue.

As Sam delivered the final few lines of the exorcism Kalfu!Dean suddenly screamed, severing the silence of the night. His essence was brutally banished with time-tested, hallowed, exorcism influence, despite the demon's determination to cling to Dean's body by way of sheer willpower. Black murk spewed from his gaping, bloodied mouth, spilling out like a chemical explosion and filling the confines of the Devil's trap. He'd maintained his grisly possession, by tooth and nail, upon Dean's body to the very last. Sam glared at the agitated vapour, as it swirled around the convulsing body of his brother. The thick black haze quickly filled the air with its acerbic, sulphuric stench and suffocating throng. Sam suddenly feared actually inhaling the Demon's essence, feared it would simply try to jump from Dean to him… and wondered if his protective tattoo would shield him.

"_Qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem…"_ Sam churned out anxiously; he knew he had to finish it.

With the final, devastating lines of the incantation, the murky miasma quickly darted upwards in what looked like an escape attempt, however it was swiftly halted, caged by the restraints of the Devil's Trap. It condensed and contacted in upon itself, until it looked as if it would form a solid, dense mass. Sam could hear a feint hum in the air, like the electrified atmosphere during an electrical storm that was steadily escalating. The charged disturbance intensified until a severe blue-white flash, like a lightning bolt, burst from the heart of the miasma. The haze blasted into the night sky, but was then reigned in equally fast. In an instance the enduring smoke imploded in upon itself, as if it had been sucked into a black hole. With a fiery explosion, Kalfu's essence disintegrated, accompanied by a sudden aftershock, with the force of a small bomb.

Sam was instantly propelled into the air, and the stunned hunter was cast several feet away and dumped unceremoniously into a tombstone with the sheer force of Kalfu's explosive exorcism.

Bobby stumbled backwards with the force of the blast. He staggered over his tools of summoning as he fought to regain his balance; he kicked the urn over, spilling its contents across the pitch black of the gravel. Dean's amulet spilled onto the ground and Bobby's own blood seeped into the dry dirt beneath. His staggering feet flicked at the base of the mausoleum door and his line of rock salt was severed. In that instant a sudden dart of demonic essence broke free from the door and spewed up into the night. It billowed up and out like a bat out of hell. As Bobby lost his footing completely he lurched backwards, falling against the Gate. Miraculously the door slammed shut, and the cogs on the lock rotated, clicking systematically until it once again locked the demons, and apparently, Dean within.

Bobby Singer blinked away the shock of the blast, from where he had fallen, back against Samuel Colt's Devil's Gate door. Instinctually his hands quickly moved to fix the salt line in fear of any other demons escaping.

As he sat before the Gate, Bobby could hear the screams of the tortured souls within, he could feel the heat of Hell's fires flickering against the door. Overhead the black haze of the escaped demons lingered above him, and he knew… He sighed with anguish and disappointment as he realised, the Gates of Hell had closed once more, once and for all.

"Damn it… DEAN!" Bobby cursed in hopelessness. He peered nervously at the Winchester brothers, as Sam crawled back to Dean's lifeless side. Sam hunched with despair over his brother's inert form slumped on the ground. It was painfully apparent that all that remained was an inanimate body, Dean's carcass and nothing else. Kalfu had been truthful in that respect: Dean was gone, and apparently he had remained gone. Bobby sighed with lament; his failure had most likely banished Dean's soul to an eternal ever after in Hell's pits…

As he peered at Dean's still, motionless and savaged silhouette Bobby realized, that most likely, he hadn't managed to summon Dean back from the depths of Hell at all. That Dean wouldn't be coming back... that Dean would be… _was_ forever dead. And his soul evermore condemned to an eternity in Hell.

Unless… It took him a couple of seconds to recall just where in the ritual he had been before he was so roughly interrupted. He'd finalized the summon, he simply had to release Dean's personal possession, his amulet, from the chalice of blood and call for him once more… only the chalice, and blood and the amulet were now spilled across the ground. He collected Dean's amulet up off the ground and rubbed the bloody talisman between his fingers. He shook his head remorsefully as he began to worry; wondering how long Dean's body could remain in limbo, without a soul… and he wondered if he had the time, or the balls, to repeat the ritual…

Bobby could only acknowledge the fact that he had failed Dean, failed to save him from the infernal depths of Hell in the first place. And now he had failed to release him. And yet, with his disastrous attempt, he knew he had most certainly freed any number of demons; although he had no idea just how many had come through the seemingly minute chink in the gates of Hell.

Heaven and Hell alone would know how many demons he'd allowed to escape in vain…

Bobby slumped against the Gate in misery. He glanced at the Winchester brothers and seeing Dean's deathly form clasped in Sam's grasp only confirmed his fears; their plans had failed. They had successfully exorcised Kalfu from Dean's body, however the elder Winchester's soul was still lost… somewhere in Hell.

Bobby gazed at the darkness above him. The smoky miasma hovered over him, circling like an ominous cloud with a strange hesitation. Taunting him and casting his failure back at him with menacing audacity. Who knew how many more demons he'd just unleashed upon the world?

The black cloud hovered briefly above him, and then it swooped down at him, wrapping its hazy sulfuric stench and choking consistency around him. Icy air and a complete stillness enveloped him, the black haze blinding his sight and he feared the disembodied souls would seek him out as an easy victim in their need for a corporeal host. The haze twisted and turned about him, eddying around his torso in agitation. Wisps of black and hazy silver slithered through his fingers, wrapping around his hands and tugging at his grasp upon Dean's amulet.

Bobby's hand clutched the talisman firmly in his clutch as his other hand delved into his jacket and his fingers toyed with his protective charm, to guard him against possession, still secured safely in his pocket. Sam had his tattoo intact; it was only Dean who was vulnerable… however Dean's body was, for the time being, protected by the Devil's trap. And so the entities hesitated, seemingly insistent in tormenting him instead.

"_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei."_ Bobby began reciting with fear. He knew he had to banish what ever he'd released, and quickly, before it disappeared into the night in search of easy hosts. "_Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus…_" The demonic black miasma pulled away from him and swirled above him, churning and billowing in agitation.

There was something unusual about the haze, and its consistency. Bobby had exorcised enough demons to know exactly what their Hell-tainted souls looked like. As soon as he paused with the exorcism he noticed the vapour settle. And Bobby became acutely aware that there was more than just one consistency; certainly more than just one entity. There was a distinct variation in the colour of the smoky haze. Huge tendrils were pitch black, and distinctly sulphuric in door. Other wisps were translucent, almost silvery blue in hue and, for the most part, benign in scent.

Sam crouched by his lifeless brother's side. Dean's body lay inertly still; his green eyes gazed unresponsively to the skies above, as blood dribbled from his partially gapping mouth and gashed brow. Sam tried desperately to minister some sort of first aid to his brother's corpse, in a vain attempt to resurrect him. Blood seeped slowly from the numerous wounds, streaming out through Sam's fingers, in a mock joke insinuating that Dean still had a beating heart. Sam gazed despondently at Dean and at his blood that coated his hands, in an encore performance of just weeks ago. They were the same wounds the Hell Hounds had inflicted. Cautiously Sam scooped his brother up into his arms; Dean's head lolled about in his cradling grasp, already Sam could feel him going cold.

"Dean…" Tears rolled down Sam's face. "I'm sorry Dean… I'm so sorry." Tenderly he stroked Dean's cheek; crimson smeared beneath his touch, as Sam's tears splashed upon his brother's pale brow and mingled with oozing blood and trickled down the elder brother's face.

Bobby pondered as he studied the contradictory haze above him… and suddenly a thought struck him. He shuffled to Dean's side. The smoky miasma followed obediently above him.

"Please, please be Dean…" Bobby muttered as he placed the amulet back around Dean's neck. Sam was too heart broken to comprehend what Bobby had done. He rocked his brother's body gently in his arms, like a mother with her babe. His focus was on Dean's still face imagining that his lifeless eyes were in fact peering back up at him.

A strange eeriness descended upon them, like the air around them had suddenly disappeared. Then a cool breeze swirled past them, brushing gently by Sam's cheek, tousling his hair. It was almost unnoticeable, merely a hazy distortion to the cold air around them. Something was moving about them, sending shivers up their spines and goose bumps across their flesh. A ripple appeared in their vision, rather than an actual physical presence, and a transparent, slightly silvery tinged vapour funnelled itself into Dean's mouth.

Bobby gazed in awe. He scoured the dark skies for the other demonic essence. It lingered briefly above them, and then the black smoke dispersed into the night. He hoped the Devil's Trap would exile the demons from Dean's body, but he hoped, even more so, that it would, had, just allowed Dean's soul to return... And a few wayward demons would be worth Dean's life.

Sam gazed in stunned confusion at Dean's still lifeless form, not really sure he'd seen, or sensed, anything at all...

"Dean…" He sighed, as his hopes of getting his brother back alive slowly evaporated. Grief and heartache swelled up from within him and tears rolled freely down his cheeks, splashing across Dean's pale, still brow. Sam fisted Dean's jacket in his hands, as his hold about him tightened. "Please Dean…" he sobbed. "Please wake up."

Dean's head lolled about lifelessly, with no indication Bobby's ritual had brought about any inkling of a result. Dean was still dead…

"Dean, you have to…" Sam persisted. "Please Dean."

Dean's blinkless, lifeless gaze continued to peer back at Sam. Sam clutched him closer, wrapping his arms around his brother and willed life back into him. If Kalfu had been right about his abilities, then why couldn't he simply wish it to be so… Why couldn't he unleash the power?

But he knew why… Dean's very presence and unwavering belief in him persisted to the bone. Dean's belief was resolute: Sam was not, would never be, Hell's Prince. Even if Sam wasn't so sure…

"Please Dean…" Sam whispered into his ear. "I can't do this without you… I can't keep the darkness away… not without you!" He clutched him closer again. "Please… please…"

Dean suddenly gasped for breath and he began to gag and cough.

Sam and Bobby both gazed at Dean in awe as his face suddenly took on colour. Life and movement returned to his near-dead body. He hissed in fear and gasped in horror as his eyes blinked furiously and gazed about him in wild terror.

"NOOO…" He screamed breathlessly. Then as the pain of his injuries swamped his stunned body he arched back, groaning in agony and hissing with torment. He panted frantically, pushing away from Sam's tight embrace. Sam loosened his hold, instantly worried that he was causing his brother further pain and injury.

Dean lashed out at Sam, shoving him away in fright. Before either Sam or Bobby had the forethought to hold him down, Dean had leapt up and took off. He stumbled and hobbled, dragging his lacerated leg behind him in a desperate attempt to flee. Bobby and Sam took chase after him. He fought them off when they tried to restrain him, lashing out like a madman, with bloodied and lacerated limbs. Hesitant to scare him, or injure him further, the hunters tried to calm and reassure him, without physical contact.

"Dean… Dean… its ok… you're safe now…" Sam urged, hoping with every fibre of his soul this really was Dean. He hedged towards him, with his arms outstretched, corralling Dean towards Bobby.

"Calm down son…" Bobby pleaded. "Take it easy…"

However Dean was inconsolable. It was as if he saw only the demon's and creatures they hunted… or worse, his tormenters from the very pits of Hell itself. The severity of his injuries quickly stopped him. Although he valiantly fought the overwhelming haziness of impending unconsciousness, his ailing body succeeded in halting his escape. His leg trembled violently beneath him, until his knee buckled and succumbed to the gory wounds left in Kalfu's wake. Dean stumbled to the ground, clutching his mutilated arms about his fractured ribs, groaning with the excruciating agony as his collapse jarred his wounds. His breath gurgled and spluttered in his lungs, and blood erupted from his mouth with a fit of unrelenting coughing. Even so, he clambered across the ground, on knees and elbows, unable to raise himself to his feet, still trying to flee into the darkness of the night.

As Sam and Bobby gazed on in horror the lingering black demonic miasma that must have remained, hidden by night's cloak of darkness and hovering at the edge of the clearing, suddenly rammed itself down Dean's throat. The ailing hunter's eyes widened in further fear, as the smoke suffocated any attempt to force air into his traumatized lungs. He gasped in a long drawn out snatch for breath, then his eyes fluttered closed and silence and stillness befell the hunter again. He collapsed, face first, onto the harsh dried earth of the grave yard.

"Dean?" Sam urged, gently grasping Dean's upper arm. "Dean, please…" Sam rolled Dean over as he pleaded.

Neither hunter was sure if Dean had been possessed or had suddenly died at the hands of the suffocating demonic haze, or his injuries. He remained deathly still once more, as blood dribbled from his mouth with an ominous, pending doom…

Then he took a slow, calculated breath. When his eyes opened they revealed the oily black of the demon within. Demon!Dean smiled smugly as he gazed up at both Sam and Bobby in turn. The hunters cautiously staggered a few steps back.

"Get the hell outta him…" Sam demanded, his head spinning from the dizzying carousel of demonic possessions. "_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei_..." Sam began reciting, intent on exorcising this new demon from Dean's body.

"Relax Sammy…" Demon!Dean grinned, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "You exorcise me, and Deanie Boy dies. I can guarantee it."

"What?" Sam replied, hesitantly. "Who the hell?

"I'm crushed!" Demon!Dean feigned wounded pride. "Who else do you think would honestly want what's left of Dean's carcass? Kalfu sure left a freaking mess behind!"

"What?" Sam muttered as a glimmer of recognition prompted his reply. "… Ruby?"

"In the flesh." Ruby!Dean smiled mirthfully. "Well… in Dean's flesh! Or what's left of it."

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded, ever more suspicious of the lying, devious demonic witch. "Get the freaking hell outta him!"

"Language Sam… You should be thanking me. At the moment, I'm keeping Dean alive." Ruby!Dean scoffed. "He's pretty... ripped up. Its like a slaughter house in here…"

"How do I even know it's you?" Sam demanded, now tenfold more suspicious.

"What, Sam? You want our secret handshake or something?" Ruby!Dean scoffed. "It's me! Your own fallen angel, remember?"

"And Dean?" Sam muttered, apparently accepting of her response. "Is he?"

"Oh yeah!" Ruby!Dean raised her brows in confirmation. "It's Dean in here…"

"But, how the hell did you…" Bobby stammered as he tried to assess just how she had escaped. "…get out?"

"What? Out of Hell?" She smirked victoriously. "I'm getting to be quite the expert, aren't I? Besides, I figured you'd try, sooner or later, to summon Dean out." Ruby!Dean replied. "I just made sure I stuck real close by. When I heard you begin the ritual, I sank my claws in… and hung on for dear… life!"

"Any others manage to get out too?" Bobby muttered cautiously. "Of the Gate?"

"No." She quipped back in expectation. "Nothing else got out. That rock salt kept them in, just lucky you broke the line though, or…" She paused and smiled, hesitating to reveal if Bobby's rock salt would have prevented Dean's escape as well. It seemed she was still intent on keeping some secrets to herself.

"If you think I'm gonna let you possess my brother…" Sam began to object. Dean would have his guts if he let Ruby maintain possession of him; he'd already made that quite clear.

"Fine, I'll leave; plenty of perfectly healthy, living hosts out there… hey Bobby?" She taunted them. "But Dean's dying Sam, I'd give him a few more minutes, a half hour tops, without medical attention… how far is it to the nearest hospital?"

Even Sam had to concede, Dean was in bad shape. "He can't…" Sam muttered despondently.

"Look, he's gonna die." Ruby!Dean reiterated. "I can keep him alive until you get him to a hospital. Trust me, its no bed of roses in here; I'm not staying any longer than I have to!"

"Ok, we'd better get going then." Bobby urged Sam to help Ruby!Dean to his feet. "Get you outta him as soon as we can!"

"Fine, gives me a better chance to find me a whole new look…" Ruby!Dean smiled mischievously. "I wonder what a pretty little nurse would be like…"

They made their way back to the Impala. Bobby drove whilst Sam sat with Ruby!Dean in the back seat. He tried to stem the bleeding, however Ruby slapped his probing hands away, reassuring him that whilst she possessed Dean, he could not bleed out.

"He's not getting any worse whilst I'm in him. Hell, you know I can heal him if I want to." She snapped with annoyance. "Of course, he'd start to die as soon as I leave… And I should probably warn you, he's a little… _frazzled_… right now."

"He's what?" Sam queried.

"He's freaking out… Big Time!" Ruby!Dean clarified. "He's all technicoloured Lunitunes!"

"He'll be… he'll be just fine!" Sam snapped back… _he had to be_.

"I don't think so, Sammy…" Ruby!Dean sighed. "He's bouncin' around in here like a freaking lunatic! Hell has a way of doing that to you. Without Kalfu there, his soul was pretty much up for grabs, and believe me the man has a few enemies down there, hankerin' for a piece of him. There's no subtle initiation into hell, no guided tour, with a brochure and convenient rest stops. And you don't want to know what the souvenirs are like!"

"No way." Sam snapped back. "Dean's tough, he's faced your kind of monsters and demons all his life. He can tackle Hell and as many demons they can toss at him for a few weeks…"

"Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy." She scoffed haughtily. "You really have no idea, do you? Time is a relative concept Sam. There are no days or nights in Hell, therefore there are no weeks, or months or years. It just is, for all eternity. And it is constant and unyielding; no weekends, no holidays, no coffee breaks, absolutely no reprieve… And trust me 10 minutes in Hell, compared to up here, is more of Hell's eternity than anyone can handle, before it would completely fuck anyone over. And if you think Dean was overlooked in any manner down there, think again. They were lining up to have a go at him… actually they were fighting each other, tooth and nail, just to get at him!"

"So how the hell did you get close enough …" Sam demanded, "… to sink your _claws _into him?"

"Well Sam, you took your time getting him out. At least it was a loooong time down there." Ruby!Dean smirked accusingly. "And in the thick of it, what's one more demon, more or less?"

"You were one of them?" Sam arced up. "So you had your petty revenge too?"

"Oh, Sam… I just stayed close…" She defended herself. "Wasn't much left of him but table scraps anyways…"

"Dean's tougher than you think…" Sam retorted swiftly.

"Trust me, there's not much left of your brother! Dean, the brother you remember… is gone." She seemed sadistically amused by her blunt statement. "All tortured and tormented, the fires of hell themselves, will have burned away any remaining traces of him. After that, if anything was left, it would have been hacked off him in chunks, until his soul was gnawed clean of him."

"NO! He's strong..." Sam gulped nervously; he simply couldn't comprehend anything bettering his brother. Sam was reluctant to admit it, but Dean had always been something akin to a super hero to him. He just had to be ok... he had to be invincible.

"Sam you have to face facts..." She sighed.

Sam began to prod at Dean's thigh, frowning with concern at the massive blood loss.

"Will you stop being so Nancy about this?" Ruby!Dean exclaimed, shoving Sam's probing hand away from the gory, hacked and torn, gunshot wound. "You know I can keep him alive! Although I'm not so sure you're gonna like what you get back…" She grinned with Dean's expression of _'I'm telling you now; I told you so!'_

"Dean's tough!" Sam snapped back, determined to champion Dean's strength over adversary. "I've seen him face things worse than Hell!"

"No he hasn't." She sighed. "You could never comprehend it, Sam. You could never understand. There is just no way to describe Hell."

"Why don't you try?" Sam urged. "Tell me..."

"Fine, I'll try, but it's like trying to explain colours to a blind man! And… you probably won't want to know." Ruby!Dean replied with hesitation, knowing that she would be revealing far more to him about herself, than she was completely comfortable with. But then, maybe it would bring him closer into her confidence... "Mostly there's burning, like acid in your veins, and smouldering embers in your guts; burning to your very core. So hot and blistering you could swear you can feel your flesh being seared from your bones… Don't get me wrong, there is no real physical pain. Your body's dead, buried and rotting away six feet under… maggots an' all… topside. That kind of pain, pain of the flesh, doesn't exist in Hell. It's really your soul being tortured; even so, you can still smell the rancid, putrid smell of rotting, burning flesh.

And there's still pain. P.A.I.N. Like nothing you've ever experienced before. And that's all there is: An all consuming pain of cremation, of floggings, and flaying. Of having your flesh ripped, in strips, from your body by claws, teeth and daggers… of your bones systematically being crushed and shattered, over and over… and yet there is no physical body to simply die and put an end to it. No blood, no breath, and no heartbeat to stop_… nothing can end it._

And that's the real Hell, knowing it will never, ever end.

Some of them, the really consummate, adept torturers, they're a little more inventive, and sophisticated. They use your emotions against you: Talk about freaking mind games. They can play your every fear and horror repeatedly through your mind: Replaying every death or disaster, of every loved one, in a never ending midday matinee of anguish and sorrow, at least until you forget who they are… And eventually you do forget. Eventually you even forget who you are. That's when just being and pure existence is all that remains… no memories, or thoughts, no sensations.

Nothing but the pain and torment. Its just Hell: It is. And that's it. You just are.

When there's nothing left to hack away. And believe me, when I tell you, that it takes hundreds of years, until the only thing left is the pain, and suffering, and despair, and misery… and the hatred and loathing and the need for vengeance. Once every last ounce of humanity is eviscerated from the soul, and then maybe, after cowering in the deepest, darkest crevices of the foulest dungeon of horror and torture, the strongest may eventually crawl out. Only the thing that crawls out, to seek their own vengeance, has turned into the very thing that stripped them of their spirit, their character, their humanity and their soul over the centuries. Its how Demons are created, at least the kind that you generally find."

"So, Ruby... how did you survive?" Sam queried after some minutes, if she could, Dean could too. "Why aren't you like all the other demons?"

"I guess they didn't quite cleanse my soul… of all my humanity..." She grinned dubiously.

Sam remained silent and in awe.

"There's others?" Bobby interrupted. "Other _kinds _of demons?" He had taken note of her subtle insight.

"Yeah… the original… the true Fallen." She replied.

"Those cast out of Heaven?" Bobby clarified. He knew the story.

"Yeah, for their insolence and rebellion against God." She replied. "I think the story goes that there were 200 in all, cast out of Heaven, and made to roam the Earth until Judgement day. Only most have already been banished to Hell, mostly by the likes of hunters like you. And believe me, the 'Once were Angels' are by far the most powerful, vengeful and sadistic of all demons. It was, after all, their refusal to bow to the likes of mankind that got them all exiled in the first place! And they have no love for mere humans!"

"You mean like Lucifer?" Sam ventured to ask.

"Yeah, some say." She shrugged Dean's mauled shoulders.

"So you don't even know if he exists?" Sam queried.

"Oh, and I suppose you have coffee and cake with God every other Tuesday?" She retorted with irritation. "At least I know for sure Hell exists!"

"Ok, point taken." Sam conceded. "But… how… you can, like, you have demonic powers. You know things and… I mean, how does that happen?"

"Evil has a way of rubbing off. It's what remains of those who touch you." Ruby!Dean tried to explain. "When evil touches you, to your very soul… it sticks, and it eventually fills you. It's what replaces your humanity. And with the evil comes the powers, the abilities… all passed on from the original Fallen… from God's own Angels!"

"That's why demons are so powerful?" Bobby remarked. He'd always had his own theories. "Demonic powers are somehow transferred…"

"Some more powerful than others…" She smirked. "And trust me, if you hadn't sprung Dean from the pit… once they were eventually through with him, with the powerful echelon of demons after a piece of his soul… he'd probably have end up being one of the most powerful yet."

"So it just keeps getting worse…" Bobby muttered. "Demons creating even more demons…"

"I guess it's the Fallens' only real vengeance on God himself." Ruby!Dean grinned. "First, tormenting God's own creations and then turning his prodigies, those made in hGod' own image, into that which he had cast away as rebellious and disobedient. Ironic really."

"Great! Why the _hel…_" Sam faltered briefly. "Why doesn't the Big Guy level the playing field?" Sam snapped with irritation. "I mean, how does he… _how does God_… expect us to fight this? Surely he could do something?"

"Maybe _He_doesn't exist?" She taunted him.

"If Hell exists, and Lucifer… then so does God!" Sam stated unequivocally.

"So, then… what makes you think he hasn't sent his own?" She frowned; surprised Sam hadn't considered there to be God's own... "I mean there are… beings out there… very powerful beings… doing 'the greater good'… aren't there?"

Sam peered at her with bewilderment. _Surely she didn't mean he was… _"Are there?"

"How, the hell, should I know?" She snapped grimacing with the pain Dean's wounds inflicted on her temporary sanctuary. "But there's always talk, about… the Avenging…"

"What? You mean, like, angels?" Sam scoffed. He was pretty sure now-a-days that Dean had that theory right; they simply didn't exist!

"Maybe." She smirked dubiously. "Or maybe they've _all_ fallen… at least the Fallen get to have a little fun…"

Ruby groaned softly again. She frowned, diverting her attention to the blood gushing from the wound to Dean's thigh. Her babble, had distracted her, allowed the wounds to flare once more. And the wounds delivered by Hell's own were the worst by far. Every one was beginning to affect even the demon within. Ruby became aware of the startling fact: She was also beginning to yield to Hell's own inflictions… by proxy. She was succumbing to the hell hound wounds, to Devoratus's hellfire burn, and the lingering enchantment of the Colt's bullet. She wouldn't be able to maintain possession for much longer. "I think you better step on it." She muttered to Bobby. "Or there won't be much left of him to save. I can't fight Hells potency, or the Colt, for much longer."

"Nearly there..." Bobby replied, glancing at Dean's bloodied form in the back seat. "Can you hold on, we're about 10 minutes away?" He queried Ruby.

She nodded, wincing again with the pain that crept into her consciousness. Dean's panic-stricken screaming echoed through her ears, and his pain and his fears seeped into her own; mingling into a nauseating surge of overwhelming emotions. "Yeah… I can try." She tried to reassure the hunters, however slowly her eyes fluttered closed and Ruby!Dean slumped into Sam's arms.

"I sure hope so…" Bobby muttered to himself as he sped down the highway, glancing at Dean's lifeless body in the rear-view mirror as fear crept back into his waning optimism. His foot pressed harder upon the accelerator.

"Shit..." Sam muttered pressing upon the wound to Dean's thigh, as blood gurgled up through his fingers. He listened as his brother's lungs struggled and laboured for every breath, as they filled with blood. Ruby's assistance of artificial life support was steadily fading... and fast.

"Not far now Sam..." Bobby encouraged as he caught sight of a 'St. Anne's Hospital' sign. He estimated they were close. "Better cut his clothes up there Sam, docs might buy it if we say Dean got mauled by a pack of wild dogs, but they're likely gonna wonder how he got so savaged without a single tear in his clothes…"

oooOOOooo

_**The extracts of the Rituale RomanumI have quoted come from a version I found on the internet, and I ad-libbed the summoning rite. I have no knowledge of Latin, or exorcisms at all, so please forgive me any inaccuracies…**_

_**I hope you have enjoyed my tale so far.**_


	7. Chapter 6

_**I do not have a medical background, so please forgive me any medical errors… **_

_**chrissymi**_

**oooOOOooo**

_After the unexpected and sudden oblivion of nothingness, fleeting disorientation was his first conscious impression. However that was followed closely by the return of pain that effectively wiped out all other senses…_

_There had been all too vivid realism before that; of creatures, and fire, and an endless, shadowy cavern… where there was nothing but torment; incessant… agonising… excruciating torment. And pain. Pain like he'd never felt before, pain that gouged beyond the flesh and into his very soul. After endless eons of time, and torture, and agony, when he had almost forgotten he had one, he imagined he could hear his name being called… _

"_Ego evocare Spiritus Dean Winchester…" Words that would usually have taken a determined effort to decipher bled into his consciousness with a message pure and simple:_ I summon the spirit of Dean Winchester.

_The demand was gruff and urging. Something about the voice was familiar and instinctually he felt he should obey the order. His tormentors shrieked with anger and what he imagined was desperation. Gradually their snarls of fury subsided, drowned away by his own screams of agony…_

_He was yanked upwards, as the creatures clawed and scraped at him, and they attempted to ground him, or to cling to him… _

_He was caught in a sudden vacuity, where the pressure crushed down around him, hoisting him upwards, until his tormentors disappeared into obscurity. His breath was sucked from his lungs, and a vice-like grip squeezed around his chest, crushing his thumping heart until it could beat no more. Then sheets of searing pain skated across his limbs, as if he was being skinned alive._

"_Damn it… DEAN!"_

_And damned he was._

_Then everything was sucked away into a huge void. There was an all consuming darkness at first, suddenly thrust upon him like somebody had flicked a light switch off. It was followed by an icy cold tingling throughout and complete obscurity… and freedom; a numb nothingness amid the disorientation and the unrelenting agony. _

_It was like he was floating, on the tepid waters of a mountain lake in the deep of night. Nothing but a black emptiness surrounded him; no noise, or smells, nothing to see, or really feel, just… nothing. Just blissful oblivion. Physical senses were at a loss… he felt, and he sensed, however the sensation of being corporeal was lost to him. Like somehow he'd been disembodied. His senses became ambiguous and hazy, like he was disintegrating into a million shattered pieces… The void of nothingness was slowly beginning to consume him, almost as if he was slowly evaporating into the oblivion, becoming part of it. _

_It was as if everything had ended and been replaced by tranquil emptiness cloaked in a void of endless darkness. _

_Or he had ceased to even exist… And if this was to be his entire destiny he welcomed it with open arms. Nothingness was an easy path when his only other choice was Hell's torments._

_Only as quickly as he had been enveloped by the nothingness, something swiftly dragged him out. Then iciness shrouded him again. Confusion and disorientation swamped his consciousness. _

_And he was being pulled downwards again; only something else was manoeuvring him, forcing him further and further down._

_And then he was touched by familiarity. It was the sense of being in Bobby's presence… of the emotional bonds that had been forged between him and his pseudo father. _

_In an extraordinary twist of sensations he was surrounded by warmth and caring that sent shivers trembling through his consciousness, tantalising emotions that had almost been completely exterminated. Great anguish and sorrow was fused with the sentiments… Even so, the closer he came to it, the more he craved it. He felt himself intertwine with the strength and comfort of the familiar presence, as he rapidly diminished into its grief and sadness, although he felt neither. _

"_Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei." __In what must have been yet another of Hell's tortures he was ripped away from the bizarre sense of caring._ "_Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu Christi Filii ejus…_"

_Hell beaconed once more …_

_Something sank its claws back into him and latched on with a resolute grip. It clawed at him, it tried to drag him away, but he fought its inclination. One of Hell's own had him in its icy grasp again, and it had latched onto him with an indomitable grip. Panic and disorientation circled him, mingled with steely determination and fortitude in sensations and emotions he wasn't entirely sure were all his own. The entity amalgamated with his thoughts and with his senses… and he felt its panic. _

_Its chilly presence only made him fear that it was dragging him back… to the torment and pain of Hells many dungeons of torture. When all he wanted was the nothingness… the reprieve from the hurting… he fought the deathly grasp upon him. It was strong, too strong. Far stronger than he, and it was dragging him… to or from, he didn't know, but he fought its urgings. But it was far more powerful than he. _

_He was consumed by a downward thrust, so prevailing he had no power to halt the transference from shattered elusiveness into the suction of the overt. _

"_Dean." Hazy, muffled pleading echoed through his distraught, confused mind. Something reminded him of who he was, or had been… and of where he had been condemned for all eternity. _

_With the realisation of self came the agony. And all too quickly the torture returned. The pain slammed back into him like he'd been hit by a freight train, but somehow it was different. The pain was more constricting this time, it was excruciating and suffocating and far more intense than before… He was trapped in a stifling cocoon of pain and agony._

"_Please Dean." Even the sound of his own name hurt to be heard. It made the task of pushing the pain and agony away, far too hard, for he couldn't loose himself, and the pain, if he thought too much about who he really was. Only ambiguity gave him any solace from the memories of a past so swiftly lived; memories far more painful to recall than the tortures inflicted upon him by his tormentors. And he was sure he couldn't loose himself in the so wanted oblivion if he still had an identity._

"_Please wake up." Hell was surely tormenting him… again. This was simply a new tactic._

_His lungs felt like they'd been filled with hellfire and molten lava, and refused to suck in air. His whole chest seized with torturous pain, as if razors hacked at his ribs with every attempt to breathe. His legs trembled and convulsed with agony. His shoulder was ablaze with searing, excruciating pain and his arm pulsed with waves of throbbing. _

"_Dean, you have to…" The words bled in and out, lost in the cavernous emptiness he was now ensnared within. Trapped again in the grottos of pain and torture from which he thought he had escaped. The dungeons of torture that were always filled with the screams and cries of the damned, fated for all eternity, to Hell's persecutions and suffering. _

_Only now there was only one scream… it was his own, he realised, from somewhere deep within himself. _

_His whole body trembled with agony, antagonised by other external forces, for he was relatively certain he hadn't quite regained any form of bodily control, and yet he was being jostled and dragged… tugged at and pulled. And every movement amplified the pain's intensity._

"_Please Dean… I can't do this without you… I can't keep the darkness away… not without you… Please… please…"_

_But he wanted the darkness, he wanted the oblivion, and he wanted to be free of the pain and torment. _

_Only something was unequivocally dragging him further away from the reprieve of oblivion's nothingness and thrusting him back into pain's torturous charge. _

_Something vile and evil, one of Hell's own creatures, had snatched away his brief clutch at redemption from his grasp. He tried to fight his way back into the oblivion, and back to the all consuming darkness of nothingness. He fought against the ties that bound him to the pain; however he was fast loosing the struggle. Hell's leash of torment was wrapped tightly about him, steadily asphyxiating him. There was an iron vice of constraint and restriction about his torso. Like a huge anaconda, something was wrapped around him and threatened to completely crush him. As he regained control of his cumbersome, pain racked body he managed to force his eyes open, however he was refused clear vision. A hazy murkiness surrounded him, however he could just make out the menacing, obscure silhouettes that hovered over him. They swarmed around him, and their agonising clutches squeezed him tighter. Terror welled swiftly within him and, in panic stricken desperation, he struggled free. _

_He commanded his body to obey his will, snapping back into the pilot's seat as he forced the biting sting of air into his traumatised lungs and then hissed his only thought. "NOOO…" He wanted it to stop, wanted to be free of the pain…_

_As his motor skills improved he stumbled to his feet and ran, hoping to find the numbing oblivion again, to disappear into its obscurity and welcoming nothingness … _

_The shadows pursued him… grabbing at him, circling him, every touch sending debilitating shocks of pain surging through his waning body; sucking him back into the overwhelming, perpetual existence of agonising abuse and torment. _

_He was running, staggering actually, aimlessly away; away from the torment and torture… away from his persecutors. However his legs failed him. Every footfall had his chest flare with pain and a fiery agony burst up from his thigh so intense that his leg finally buckled beneath him. His shattered body crashed to the ground in an explosion of more pain. His chest collapsed in on him, and any chance of gasping in breath was met with painful objection. Warm, salty fluid erupted from his mouth, in a hacking cough, as his lungs expelled the asphyxiating blood that flooded them. The sheer terror and panic of being sucked back into the depths of Hell's torment overwhelmed him and overrode his body's surrender. He dragged himself across the stony terrain, rocks and gravel bit further into his wounds like a million razor blades, hacking away at his already shredded flesh. His desperate struggle sent a tirade of agony coursing through his entire body whilst amplifying the sheer will to persevere. _

_Oblivion was close… he could finally feel its icy tendrils of beckoning wisping at his soul. All he had to do was yield to its yearning to consume him… and he desperately longed for it. His struggle ceased and he relinquished all will to survive… and hoped the darkness of oblivion would finally take him._

_Then his mouth was filled with an overpowering foul tasting essence that mingled with the earthy, salty intrusion of dirt and blood. The suffocating intrusion maintained a steely grip upon him, furrowing down his throat like an acidic, burning, noxious gas. Any struggling attempts to breathe were halted altogether. _

_He was gripped by a paralysing hold, where even his heart ceased to beat and his traumatised lungs were refused any further attempts to inhale. His mind was instantly swamped by an intense, searing pain of pressure, and intrusion. A high pitched squeal deafened him, and bright light blinded his sight. And he wondered if it was oblivion that had finally caught him in its embrace..._

_Except there was no darkness, no sense of nothingness, no relief from the pain... And he feared his brief interlude with oblivion had simply been another of Hell's torments. Something to remind him that, sensations other than pain, actually existed, and to reaffirm for him the agony he would be forced to endure, for all eternity…_

_He was incarcerated into himself, in a prison where all that existence was the pain and agony. His body refused to obey him, and yet his limbs moved against his will, every movement flooding him with more waves of excruciating pain. And he knew then, that once again oblivion had been snatched away from him._

_After some time he realised, something else was there with him; he could sense its evil presence. One of Hell's creatures had him cornered._

_And he was trapped within himself: Spinning around uncontrollably in a state of panic and terror. _

_He was trapped in a whole new kind of Hell…_

oooOOOooo

_**St. Anne's Hospital**_

_**Wyoming**_

_**6 minutes later…**_

Bobby high-tailed it to the nearest hospital as fast as the Chevy allowed him, breaking any number of road rules (and possibly land-speed records) in the process. Dean's failing body was challenging, even for the demoness, to sustain in the land of the living. The Impala came to a squealing halt, almost ploughing straight through the double glass doors leading into the Emergency rooms. As the bright sign of the casualty department cast an eerie blue glow into the Impala's interior Ruby made her escape. It would seem Hells injuries, even those past inflicted, still had a devastating effect on the demoness. The savagery of the Hell Hounds attack, combined with Devoratus's Hellfire and the lingering effects of the Colt's charmed silver bullet were draining her of her strength. Barely conscious herself she fled Dean's tainted body before she succumbed altogether. However Ruby had kept her promise; she'd kept Dean alive until they reached the hospital. As soon as her essence left him, spewing from his mouth like an avalanche of black smoke, Dean gagged and spluttered as he lost the artificial life-support the demoness had offered him. She fled through the slightly ajar window, and dispersed into the dark skies and swiftly disappeared into the night. Neither Sam, nor Bobby took the time to ponder just where the demoness had gone; they were far too concerned by Dean's declining state. Dean's breathing immediately yielded to the blood flooding his lungs and he was at certain risk of drowning in his own bodily fluids. When his gagged breaths stopped altogether Bobby practically sat upon the Chevy's horn in a bid to obtain urgent medical attention. As doctors, nurses and orderlies rushed to aid the ailing hunter, consciousness eluded him, thankfully, as his remaining wounds burst open as fresh, and as gory, as the day they were inflicted.

He was whisked away so quickly the remaining two hunters were left in a vacuum of mixed emotions and pounding hearts. Fear, anxiety and trepidation bubbled with relief and exhaustion in a cauldron of churning, unleashed sensations. For a moment they simply stood, completely dumbfounded as their emotions caught up with them, beneath the blue Casualty light. They watched as Dean was rushed away, in a flurry of activity and shouting, until he was lost in a swarm of medical staff, whisked away into the depths of the ER. However, in an instant their senses were again under their own control and they hauled ass in pursuit.

Bobby and Sam barely saw him again, as they were ushered out of the ER whilst the doctors fought to keep Dean's waning clutch upon life viable. Instead the hunters found themselves accosted by a brusque, middle aged nurse demanding details. They were subjected to an intense inquisition and a series of delving investigations, to which Bobby, well skilled in the art of deceitful, but plausible enlightenment, responded. The nurse seemed content, if not humbled by the account. With obvious signs of an animal attack, Dean's several fractures, combined with the deep gash to his thigh and Devoratus's burns to contend with, the nurse was treated to one of Bobby's most imaginative explanations: Of a camping trip gone wrong. Bobby's creative and colorful story told of a pack of wild dogs attacking them, and Dean heroically fighting them off and effectively saving them all… but not without a desperate struggle. The scuffle had him tumble into the camp fire, and ended with a plummet into a ravine. But not before the feral hounds had savagely attacked and mauled him almost to death. With the wounds all as fresh as the day they had been inflicted, everything appeared legit.

Sam and Bobby were then swiftly rallied away, left once again in a suffocating sensation of turmoil. Relegated to a dimmed waiting room they could do no more than wait, and ponder and silently pray to any and all, known gods and deities, and voodoo idols... Neither spoke to each other, save the offer to procure coffee, because there really wasn't anything else to say. They both knew that although they may have saved Dean, he was more than just knocking on Death's door… the door was opened wide and Dean had been well and truly invited in! And neither hunter was much for hollow words; deceitful babble of reassurances and false hopes that Dean would recover from his ordeal and live some kind of 'happily ever after'… In their world it was 'happily ever after' that was pure fiction, not the fantastical creatures they hunted! No, they both knew the dire circumstances of Dean's condition, and they both silently hoped he'd pull through. Their only reassuring salvation was the knowledge that, at the very least, they'd freed Dean's soul from Hell. Although, neither anxious hunter wanted to contemplate the possibility that should Dean succumb to his injuries, and die, that he may well find himself condemned back into Hell, based on his own past actions and deeds, or in Dean's case, misdeeds…

Sam shifted uneasily in the waiting room chair, as he twisted and knotted his fingers until his knuckles went white. His leg bounced anxiously as he subconsciously expelled his nervous, energetic need for progress. Meanwhile Bobby wore a path into the grey-marble linoleum floor, his methodical pacing interrupted only by an occasional pause as he frowned, and grumbled with clear disgruntlement, as he examined the clock on the wall. He studied the small black and white time piece with consternation, as if checking the time now required some inexplicable calculus formula to calculate. And the obtrusive ticking of the waiting-room clock pounded in their heads, wiling away each second with what seemed to be a thunderous tick… or tock. Over and over… every second drawn out into its own endless eternity.

"Mr. White?" The doctor queried cautiously as he entered the waiting room, some eight hours (and what felt like twenty-five years), later.

"Yes?" Sam practically tumbled out of the ass-numbing embrace of the molded plastic chair that was far too short for his long legs, in order to approach the doctor. "My brother, Dean, is he?"

"For the time being, he's stable." The doctor replied. "My name's Evan Rogers, your brother's surgeon…" Evan Rogers was a tall and far too slender man whose age was a hard fact to determine, for his salt-and-pepper hair belied his still somewhat youthful features. He had clear blue, piercing eyes, with somber features, however his smile of encouragement seemed genuine and softened his expression, giving him total credibility.

Sam sighed, and relief washed over him in an emotional tidal wave. Suddenly the room was hazy and distorted as his own exhaustion and apprehensions came unstuck. The room threatened to swallow him whole with its gaudy peach colored walls and seascape paintings adorning the walls in some vain attempt to make the room seem lively… or cheerful… hopeful maybe… He realized after some moments that the doctor was still speaking, although his mind continued to reel uncontrollably and he made no great effort to concentrate fully.

"… his condition is still quite serious…" The surgeon's gaze wavered from Sam to Bobby as he spoke. "we've had to repair… bleeding was quite significant… several fractures… induced coma… next 24 hours will be crucial … miraculous he's survived at all… thankfully he's young and fit… work in his favor…"

All Sam registered of the surgeon's elucidation was that after all the hours of surgery, and numerous blood transfusions, Dean had miraculously survived, all else blurred into a hazy, monotone garble.

However Bobby frowned with trepidation as he listened intently to the surgeon's every word. Evan Rogers made no promises; Dean was damned lucky to have survived as long as he had. In fact, Dr. Rogers had been so bold as to prepare them for the worst. Dean had sustained numerous profound lacerations. The degree of the hounds' savagery was extensive and one of the hospital's plastic surgeons had been called in to repair the damage to Dean's muscles, tendons and nerves, whilst Dr. Rogers and his surgical team endeavored simply to save his life. They were told Dean's femoral artery had survived being severed by mere millimeters, no thanks to Kalfu's savage attempt to remove the Colt's bullet. His blood loss had been severe none the less, and should probably have been fatal. He had half a dozen fractured ribs, smashed, seemingly, from the inside-out; a state that had the medical staff examining his x-rays, over and over, in amazement and awe. Dean's left lung had been punctured and subsequently collapsed, and the right was at risk of suffering the same. The damage had caused bleeding into the lung and almost drowned him in his own blood. A respirator now kept him breathing, whilst his lungs healed. Scans of his head injury revealed a hairline skull fracture with minor bleeding on the brain. The doctors had decided to induce a coma, to allow his brain time to recover, hopefully avoiding the necessity for further surgery. His fractured collar bone and broken right forearm were seemingly the least of his injuries.

"…just transferring him to the ICU…" Dr. Rogers' gaze fell on Sam. "I should warn you, you may need to prepare yourself… there's a number of monitors and tubes…"

Sam just nodded, he wanted to go… NOW! He had to see Dean, right now, and he didn't need the compulsory warning spiel. Nothing he hadn't already seen before… He grabbed Bobby's sleeve, unconsciously urging the elder to hurry things along so they could get to Dean as soon as possible. The doctor sensed his urgency and stopped mid-sentence.

"I guess you want to go straight up…" The doctor reflected. "Fifth floor, one of the nurses on duty will take you to see him as soon as he's settled."

As he entered Dean's room Sam shuddered at the eerie sense of déjà vu. He couldn't help but contemplate the paradox of the situation, so much like before, when Azazel had almost killed him: What was it? Two years ago? And yet so vivid in his mind it was like he'd entered the exact same hospital room… Only this time the damage was far more visible, even though Dean was swathed in bandages.

The gash to his brow had been bandaged, beneath which vivid red-purple bruising was splashed across half his face, and slight swelling distorted his cheek and eye. His fractured forearm had been set and his arm was now adorned with a stark white cast. Grazing, lacerations and maul wounds continued up his arm though, almost to his shoulder. His left arm disappeared beneath the blanket, strapped snuggly to his chest to support and immobilize his fractured collar bone. A number of gashes and superficial puncture wounds marred the surrounding flesh across his chest and neck, much of which was hidden from sight by the bandages that strapped his fractured ribs. Further scratches, grazing, and heavy bruising blemished his muscular torso, the worst of which, his most gruesome wounds; Devoratus's Hellfire burn, and the savagery of the Hell hounds' attack, were concealed beneath heavy bandages across his left shoulder.

Only the slight movement of his broad, ravaged chest showed any signs that the hunter lived. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the respirator, which filled the room with a monotonous, regular hiss, interrupted only by the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor. Sam grew dizzy with the far-too-familiar scenario and wondered if they would ever see a time when the days could pass without one, the other or both of them being subjected to pain and injury. He wondered if the constant sense of trepidation and fears would ever truly end for them and he wondered if their lives would ever be free of death's constant menace.

Right now, he wondered if Dean would ever open his eyes again…

Last time it had taken a deal with a demon to save Dean's life, when their father had begun what could easily have become a new Winchester tradition of bargaining with demons. But now it would end. Sam knew that, knew that no more deals could be made… knew that Dean's sacrifice, already made, would be worth nothing if he was to follow in his father and brother's footsteps… This time there would be no more deals. Dean had to recover from this ordeal on his own.

Bobby stayed close by, but gave the brothers breathing space. He hovered in a corner, silently observing the reunited Winchester brothers. If he hadn't known that the copious quantities of blood that stained Sam's entire attire weren't his, Bobby would probably have sworn he was a dead man walking. There was just too much blood… and there was something not quite right that so much red should taint Sam, whilst Dean was so pale and colorless. He'd faded away beneath the stark white of the bed sheets, and bandages. The injured hunter looked far too insipid, and motionless to be Dean Winchester. The kid always had a sense of activity about him; always on the go, with things to do… or kill.

Bobby's heart pounded a little harder as he gazed on the brothers. They were as close to family as he had. He'd kind of adopted them after the death of their father (weather they liked it or not). He noted that Sam looked almost as haggard and drawn as Dean. Even though Sam's demeanor had relaxed to an extent, Bobby could still read the apprehension in his scowl.

"Hey Dean…" Sam muttered awkwardly as he pulled the nearby chair closer to Dean's side. "it's… ummm… it's good to have you back." He reached out tentatively to grasp his brother's plastered hand, however although his hand lingered briefly over Dean's, he pulled away, his fingers simply brushing over his brother's. Winchesters simply didn't hold hands… It had never been a spoken rule, of course, just John's way. His whole life Sam had no real recollections of any kind of 'tender'. Sure they had an embrace; that manly, blokey grasp that could last no longer than a few fleeting seconds, and was always accompanied by a rough slap on the back. But nothing that ever expressed any love, or tenderness, or affection… or emotional vulnerability. It was a hard habit to break. Besides, Dean'd have his guts if he ever found out they'd held hands. A definite invasion of personal space!

Bobby shook his head silently. It was as if John was right there in the room with them. He'd stamped out their ability to reveal their true feelings long ago. It angered him. John Winchester may have been one of the best darned hunters he'd ever known, but he fell well short in the fathering department.

"You here Dean?" Sam queried, his gaze cutting through the room in hopes Dean might somehow materialize before him. "Any chance, you could, you know, give me a sign? You must be getting' pretty good at all this astral projection stuff by now." However no sign was forthcoming and Sam sighed, several minutes later, with measured disappointment.

Bobby left the brothers early the next morning, however he didn't venture too far. He drove the Impala to a nearby motel and he booked himself and his nephew, Sam, into the homely 'Inn'. After a refreshing shower and clean clothes he organized a taxi to take him back to the cemetery so that he could collect his abandoned pickup. On the way back to town he stopped at a local café and bought a couple of 'breakfasts-to-go'; a hearty serving of scrambled eggs, a couple of hash browns, some sausages and bacon. A meal Dean would certainly be envious of, had he been conscious. And then he promptly headed back to St. Anne's.

He found that Sam hadn't moved from his vigilant bedside post. The younger Winchester was so close to exhaustion Bobby feared he'd soon be visiting another patient. Dean's condition hadn't changed, hadn't gotten any worse either, so for that Bobby was thankful. In fact he was sure a smudge of color had returned to the injured hunter's cheeks.

"Doc says he's doin' as well as could be expected." Sam muttered despondently. He tried to force a smile, but Bobby read his underlying concerns.

"That's real good." Bobby replied. "He's tough Sam, ya know that."

"They… umm… they have to do some more tests." Sam informed him.

"Pretty sure that's to be expected." Bobby replied optimistically.

"Yeah…" Sam sighed.

Although Sam managed to push his breakfast around the container that it came in, hardly more than its aroma was ingested, although he did managed to guzzle down both his coffee and Bobby's. It took Bobby an hour and a half to convince Sam he should leave his brother's bedside to get himself cleaned up.

"Motel's just down the block… Flowerdale Inn, room 3." Bobby explained as he pushed the motel door keys into Sam's palm. "Ya can walk if ya want… or take my truck. Place has pipin' hot water… damned best shower I've had in a long time… got ya duffle in the room… amazin' how much better ya'll feel after a hot shower and some clean clothes…"

"No." Sam mumbled decisively.

"Sam, he's made it past the worst of it…" Bobby sympathized with him, but he wasn't about to watch Sam crumble in the wake of Dean's quandary. "He's got a lot of healin' to do yet Sam. And he's gonna need us both to help him get through this. He's gonna need you on top of your game…"

"What if he…" Sam muttered.

"Ya know he ain't gonna wake up yet." Bobby replied instantly. "Drugs are gonna keep him… sleeping…" _'Induced Coma'_ just didn't seem like an optimistic justification.

"I know Bobby, but he might try and… _contact_ me." Sam stated blankly.

"_Contact_ ya? How the hell could he… Ohhh…" Bobby grinned to himself, in recognition, as he nodded. "Look Sam, I'll call ya straight away if the furniture starts flyin' around the room." Bobby's gaze was firm. "I'll call ya if anything changes…"

Eventually Sam had to concede defeat; once the nurses started urging him to go he realized his presence had become intimidating. Even for a professional care giver, it was obvious that the amount of ruddy-crimson that stained his clothes was disturbing, and beginning to reek… and he had something he needed to collect from the Impala's boot.

oooOOOooo

Bobby didn't query Sam when he returned less than an hour later with a Ouija Board in hand. He'd at least changed his clothes, even if Bobby suspected his shower may have only just sprinkled him with a token splash of water. Sam waited until the nurse had done Dean's observations before placing the Ouija board on the floor by the bed. He smiled with hopeful desperation at Bobby as he set up the board and planchette, although he did not request Bobby's assistance. He only needed Dean's involvement to make the talking board work…

"Come on Dean…" Sam continued to beg after forty-five minutes. "You gotta be here. Just answer 'yes' that's all I need… just so I know you're… I just need to know its you… please Dean..." He continued to stare at the board, his hand trembled upon the planchette… he could almost have willed it to move, but even he knew it wouldn't really be Dean. Wherever Dean was, it wasn't transcendentally in the room with him. Sam hoped that maybe the drugs kept him tied to his body, or maybe he wasn't as close to death as he had been last time, after Azazel… Or worse, maybe Ruby had lied; maybe Dean wasn't there at all… What ever the reason, Sam got no response from his attempt to contact Dean. He dejectedly pushed the board under the bed, as he sprang to his feet when the nurse came in to check Dean's vitals again.

As the days passed Dean's condition continued to improve. He wasn't exactly jumping out of the bed and dancing a jig… the doctors still had him unconscious in a medically induced coma. However, although he remained on the respirator, Dean's doctors reassured both hunters his lung was healing well. Most importantly the swelling and bleeding to his brain had greatly subsided. As such Bobby found it easier to pull Sam back into a routine that vaguely resembled normal. He managed to get the young hunter to at least eat small quantities of food, generally in sync with breakfast, lunch and dinner… He eventually convinced him that he also really did need to shower on a daily basis. And after never-ending coercion Bobby managed to get him to attempt sleep, occasionally, as long as he, himself, remained glued by Dean's side whilst Sam was away. The task was made marginally easier by Dean's improving condition. His recovery was astounding, his doctor had grinned when he last checked in on his patient.

Even so, both Sam and Bobby took turns sitting with Dean, in a round the clock vigil – Sam more so than Bobby of course. It was on the fifth night, some time past midnight when Sam was woken from his dozing by the sounds of agonising gasping. Sam already recognized the sounds, an echo of Dean's miraculous recovery once before. The doctors had ceased to administer the drugs that had kept him in a coma earlier that morning, although their concerns had not entirely ceased. Dean hadn't awoken during the day as they had hoped. Instead his mind had fought the lingering haze of unconsciousness well into the night, and chose this instance, with only Sam by his side, to wake. However as he regained consciousness his body's natural reflexes caused him to gag as he struggled to breathe against the ventilator tube shoved down his throat.

oooOOOooo

_Hell's beast had snatched the darkness away from him and kept him securely trapped in his own tortured body, where all that existed was the pain and agony. As the beast evacuated his body an intense shock flared through him, like every nerve ending had been set alight. Even after it had left him, he could feel the acidic burn of its residual presence. He instantly crashed and burned. And his body shut down. Agony swept through him briefly, and was then replaced by the welcomed darkness he so longed for. _

_However, oblivion only teased him and tempted him, briefly, once more. Something new kept him coupled to his own personal Hell. He tried to fight the shackles of torment, however, they had him securely bound: Bound to his suffering and pain._

_The pain never ceased. Waves of agony continued to drown him in a sea of misery. And amid the agony things crept and slithered out of the vilest recesses of his mind to torment him; creatures from his memories… from his nightmares… and Hell itself. Monsters that had doled out their own retribution upon him. They stalked through his mind in a never-ending stream of horrifying recollections until they were real once more. In his mind, he knew: They were responsible for his agony._

_His shattered psyche simply couldn't distinguish between what had been and gone, and the illusions his mind now continued to replay… _

_Even when his nightmarish illusions shifted slightly he had no sense of reality._

_It began with a crushing force bearing down on his chest until he couldn't breathe, every attempt was met with a suffocating pressure down his windpipe, like he was fighting to breathe in a vacuum. The harder he struggled the more his chest tightened and constricted his breath. And the more he fought to free himself of the intrusion, the more pain flooded his every limb._

oooOOOooo

Sam lunged on the call button, as he simultaneously screamed for assistance. Within seconds the room was crowded with nurses and orderlies, followed closely by the doctor on duty, all eager to aid their struggling patient. The hunter fought against the intrusion to his windpipe, trying to rip the ventilator tube out, and he lashed out at all those trying to help him. He grasped the tube, clumsily, with his plastered hand and yanked it free amid self inflicted convulsions of gagging and gasping. However his struggles continued as he cowered away from the imposing bevy of hospital staff. Pure terror and panic fuelled his desperate fight to flee from the daunting horde.

Dean grappled with an orderly, lashing out at the man trying to calm him down, with well honed upper cuts. Eventually it took another three orderlies to pin him down so that he could be sedated: To protect both Dean and others, the doctor had explained.

oooOOOooo

_Something had forced itself down his throat, some huge demonic serpent, Dean was sure. Its vicious, venomous bite was tearing his insides apart, ripping its way through his lungs and ribs. Although his arm tenaciously objected to his actions, he managed to raise his heavily weighted hand and clumsily grasped the serpent by its tail. Already tortured flesh ripped and tore open once more as he wrenched it free from his windpipe. _

_His surroundings baffled him. His senses were overloaded. The pain distorted them, twisted and shredded them into a cold hard explosion of confusion. The gloomy shadows of his incarceration were gone, replaced by white, too much white, and too bright light. The bright illumination of his surroundings blinded him, it was brighter than he could ever recall. As he blinked the obstinate glare from his sight, blurry images swarmed over him. The terrifying, shadowy silhouettes had returned and they grappled with him, tried to pin him down once more. Instincts prevailed as did the need for retribution for his past suffering. He fought back. Lashed out at his oppressors with strength he shouldn't have had. And he fought the agony every move caused him…_

_But the shadows fought back. His limbs were crushed beneath their grasp. He struggled to free himself, only to have their clutch upon him tighten. Then there was stinging radiating out from his arm, followed by warmth. Fogginess filled his mind, and he felt himself falling through a vast emptiness. Whilst his thoughts still functioned he hoped desperately that oblivion lay at the bottom of his downward plunge..._

oooOOOooo

It would seem Dean's comatose state had merely been replaced by horrific, nightmarish delusions instead. Almost as if he'd been possessed all over again, but this time by a madman.

"It's normal to show signs of disorientation at first, once he realises he's safe he should calm down." Or so the doctor had theorised…

Sam called Bobby in, and they both eagerly waited for Dean to regain consciousness again. However, a few hours later, as his drug enforced slumber wore off, Dean became agitated and restless. He was visibly fraught with renewed terrifying nightmares.

oooOOOooo

_Creatures continued to torment him. He was trapped in a never ending routine of persecution and torture. As the terrors faded, from one to the next, the inability to breathe returned. Grogginess blurred his mind and made it hard to fight through the pain. It clung to him and he imagined he was trying to run, through gaseous tunnels filled with the stench of sulphur. The acidic vapours ate through his lungs, ate at his flesh. Creatures pursued him, clawing at him, sinking huge fangs into his limbs. The Hell Hounds were mauling him again. He grappled with the huge beasts, their jaws clamped down on his limbs and shredded his flesh from the bone. Huge clawed paws ripped his muscles open, and he could feel the blood gush from the wounds with every beat of his heart._

_Something yanked at his mind, dragged his perception into another realm. He was shocked to find himself somewhere else. Again there was light, far too bright light. Through the glaring dazzle he could make out the shadows of others who sought to torment him. _

oooOOOooo

Dean startled back to semi-consciousness, with renewed terror clear across his face. Both Sam and Bobby tried to hold Dean down to stop him from fleeing his bed in fear. However Dean had miraculous strength, for all his injuries, and fought himself free of their grasp. He cast his plastered fist with deadly accurate aim towards Bobby's face, decking him with a plaster-encased backhand. Bobby was down for the count as Dean lunged from the bed, ripping his I.V. drip, drainage tubes and oxygen cannular out and numerous monitor wires off.

oooOOOooo

_The vengeful silhouettes had returned to confuse him; the shadows that stalked him and lurked in the too bright light. Hell's persecution never ceased to exist, it simply presented new ways in which to torment him. He heaved his weary, pain wracked body from his vulnerable reclined position. He knew he had to move fast, before the silhouettes caught him once more. They pounced upon him again, however years of honed instincts provoked an impulsive reaction: His unusually, heavy-laden fist struck its mark with a satisfying crack._

_He struggled against their restraining grasps that sought to keep him down, as he lashed out at the shadows and thwarted their attempted clutches upon him. His body felt awkward and cumbersome as he tumbled from a height and smacked into the hard ground beneath him. The pain gave him the energy to flee, knowing that only more pain was promised if he didn't. However his body betrayed him, as he rounded a corner into a long tunnel of more bright light, and too much white. His strength ebbed away, with every staggered step, however, he forced his maimed limbs to maintain his momentum._

oooOOOooo

After staggering into the corridor outside his room, in his desperate attempt to escape his delusions of terror, Dean's body obstinately objected and he collapsed to the floor. He crumpled in on himself, cowering away from the evil he imagined to be in pursuit of him, as he succumbed to the overbearing pain that swamped his body. He clutched at his retaliating ribs that constricted his breathing with powerful waves of excruciating agony, and he gasped desperately for every painful breath. He had expelled his strength, and aggravated his injuries to such a point that his leg and shoulder had begun bleeding profusely, leaving bloody streaks across the grey-marble linoleum floor. Dean flailed about like a fish out of water, in a crimson pool beneath him, fighting those who sought to help him, and the hallucinations that apparently plagued him.

Sam was swiftly by his side, cautiously trying to restrain him, whilst a number of staff tried to clear the overly protective hunter away so that they could tend to their patient. When Dean's nurse tried to calm and console him, Dean snarled at her in horror and punched her full in the face, almost certainly breaking her nose. His plastered wrist had become a lethal weapon. Several seconds later Dean was pinned beneath the full weight of two beefy orderlies, with apparent little regard for his injuries, as he was sedated again.

oooOOOooo

_His senses blurred around him; ringing pulsed through his ears in deafening decibels, the too bright light seared into his retinas and the pain overwhelmed him. The shadowy silhouettes clawed at him again, trying to lay purchase upon him, all the while antagonising the agony already surging through his body. Then his body exploded in acute pain as he crashed to the ground once more. He longed to curl up and fade away into the oblivion he knew existed, but refused to claim him. Oblivion that he knew the silhouettes denied him…_

_The shadows clawed at him, mocking him with his name, and there was a voice of familiarity… Hell was taunting him with Sam's reassurances. He knew better… Sam was gone from him, for ever. It angered him that Hell could so easily use the memory of his brother to torment him so cruelly. His fury spurred him into a frenzied retaliation. He lashed out at his tormenters as his struggle continued, thrashing out at the silhouettes as they sought to seize him again. Gradually the pain gave way to sharp cutting agony that filled his torso in pounding waves, his breath hacked like razors and he crumpled in on himself. Then there was burning, that flared out from his arm. His mind undulated from the stark reality of pain to hazy distortion. His mind surrendered to the vagueness. There was heaviness through out his body that prevented him from moving. Warmth that made his mind muddled and distorted and his limbs too heavy… _

_And he was falling again, into another of Hell's torture dungeons…_

oooOOOooo

"It has obviously been a severely traumatic event… I'm not sure we can expect any different when he comes around again." Dr. Howard, the attending ward doctor, warned as Dean tossed and turned in the grips of another nightmare, despite still being sedated after minor surgery to repair the self-inflicted damage he had caused himself. "We may have to think of more extreme measures in helping him heal, both physically and… mentally." He was obviously concerned at the mental state of his newest patient. As a precaution, once Dean's exasperated injuries had been tended to, Dean was restrained securely to his bed, lashed down by hand and foot, like an animal, and much to Sam's disparity.

As the night passed into day, and one day into the next Dean's terrors escalated rather than ceased. With reoccurring episodes of hellish panic and all-to-real nightmares, Dean's physical health took a serious decline. His agitated, neurotic delusions wouldn't allow him peace, to rest, or recuperate. His constant thrashing and fighting against his restraints had aggravated the numerous lacerations, and his breathing had suffered with the repeated jarring of his damaged ribcage. He wouldn't eat, couldn't in his delusional state and he'd ripped his I.V. line out on more than one occasion.

Dean continued to suffer from terrifying hallucinations both when semi-conscious and when sleeping. Even under sedation Dean lashed out at the monsters he imagined to be around him, Sam and Bobby included, hitting viciously out at anyone who ventured too close. It was as if Hell had firmly sunk its claws into him, and obstinately refused to release the terror struck hunter from his damnation, even though his soul had been freed. Fuelled by his overwhelming pain, his mind hadn't been able to distinguish Hell's torment from the tortures and agony of his injuries.

His terrors soon spread to the medical staff, a trepidation that was further fuelled when he'd managed, despite the restraints, to latch on to one of the orderlies as he'd tried to change his bed sheets. Dean lashed out at the man with such vehemence even Sam and Bobby knew he'd fractured the man's wrist.

Staff started obstinately refusing to tend to the distraught hunter.

After a week of escalating incidents, Dr. Howard, came to speak to Sam and Bobby directly. The middle-aged doctor had wavy brown hair and dark, features a little too angular. His tense face suggested he had very little humour or any capacity to relax. Sam had the feeling Dr. Howard had very little to say that bore no gravity or consequence.

"He's trapped in his own delusions and they only seem to be getting worse..." The doctor explained. "And until we reach him, there's not much else we can do… except keep him sedated, and restrained, to stop him from hurting himself, or anyone else… And I think it's in his best interests to…" The doctor paused. Sam scowled in anxious anticipation. If the doctor's grim expression was any indication, his recommendations were not going to be pleasant. "I've made arrangements to have your brother transferred to the Psyche ward in the morning."

"What? NO!" Sam objected. "He's not crazy…" Although clearly he was, and even Sam knew that. But he also knew that no psychiatrist would ever understand why. "I won't let you lock him up in some padded room in a straight jacket!"

"I'm sorry son, but you won't have a say." The doctor snapped back. Understandably so, all Dean was to him was an angry, vicious lunatic, who'd lashed out at everyone around him with brutal intent. "He's already assaulted your uncle, and one of my nurses. That orderly he attacked has a fractured hand. We could have him charged with assault if you'd prefer! If he's deemed mentally insane he'll be committed anyway! And you will have no say over his treatment what so ever!"

Sam had to concede, Ruby had been right; Dean really was a little '_frazzled_'!

oooOOOooo

"Bobby thanks for doing this. I just couldn't let them lock him up." Sam thanked with clear desperation in his voice as they walked along the dimly lit corridor.

"I know Sam. But if it wasn't for the fact that I know they just ain't gonna do him no good anyways, I'd say _we_ were nuts for trying to stop 'em." Bobby admitted. "But Sam, how, in all sanity, d'ya reckon we're gonna get him outta here? Dean's… well, Dean's stark ravin' mad, Sam, ain't no rose-colored glasses about it. He'd just as easy try an' kill us, as what ever monsters he's seein'!"

"I know Bobby, but we gotta try…" Sam sighed. "He deserves at least that…"

They'd procured orderly uniforms from a laundry basket in the ward beneath Dean's room. The hospital was eerily quiet at two in the morning. They'd decided the cover of darkness, and manned by the lesser known nightshift staff to be the best time to 'bust' Dean out. Sam strolled along confidently, with the wheelchair firmly in his grasp as they passed a couple of nurses, heading for a break. Bobby glanced away, hiding the vivid splash of colorful bruising across his cheek and eye as they passed. Sam may have thought he'd go unnoticed; however both the pretty young girls paused and glanced back at the new orderly, whose pants were just a little too short. They giggled and fantasized about what they'd like to do with him in the supply room…

The hunters waited by the elevator doors as Dean's nurse, accompanied by a muscular orderly made their way out of his room.

"You'd think…" The nurse commented as they left. "It should be enough to down an elephant…"

"Outta ya hair tomorrow, I hear." The orderly commented.

'_No wondering who they were discussing.'_ Sam cringed to himself.

"Yeah, thank God!" The nurse replied. "Still, I'd hate to imagine what he musta gone through… I heard it was a pack of dogs set on him… I guess he just can't let the memory go."

"Ya think he'll ever snap outta it?" The orderly queried as they paused beside a vending machine, whilst the nurse purchased a cola.

"I'm sure shock treatment and a lobotomy will work!" She giggled, although Sam wasn't altogether convinced she was just joking.

The pair walked away together, around a corner and back to the nurses' station.

"Now's our chance…" Sam said to Bobby.

"Finger's crossed; let's hope she just sedated him!" Bobby mused as they stole into Dean's room.

Dean lay restlessly, jerking spasmodically in his sleep, and cringing at the terrors in his dreams. The ragged laceration across his brow stood out vividly against his face, now so pale in the dim light. The bruising across his brow and eye had faded to a pallet of pale purple and yellow. His face contorted in fear and pain, as he softly repeated the words _'No, no…' _

Sam sighed as he contemplated the task at hand; getting Dean out of the hospital and back to Bobby's unnoticed. A task that would be far easier if Dean had been a more compliant abductee…

Bobby set about disconnecting Dean's I.V. line, and removing the oxygen cannular from his nose, whilst Sam unbuckled the thick leather restraints that bound him by hand and foot to the bed. Bobby switched the monitors off and contemplated the sheer lunacy of their actions when Dean flinched with their touch, cringing away like they'd scorched him with a blow torch. However he remained in his drug induced sleep.

Both Sam and Bobby expected resistance when they raised his inert weight from the bed, into a sitting position, and Bobby knew to duck when Dean thrust his plastered wrist his way. The hunters had to physically force Dean to his feet so that they could maneuver him into the wheelchair. Once he was seated Sam had to restrain him to keep him in the wheelchair. Even in his semi-lucid, drugged state, Dean thrashed and flinched with every touch, until, after some minutes he became accustomed to the wheelchair and he calmed, to a degree. However, just to be sure, Sam taped Dean's wrists to the wheelchair armrests as a precaution. Bobby collected Dean's belongings, however ripped and blood stained his attire may have been, whilst Sam procured Dean's, or more precisely Dean White's, medical file. From there they made a speedy escape.

They managed a clean getaway, having forethought to leave through the maintenance doors, past the huge trash dumpsters, to avoid encountering any medical staff or security.

With a limited window of opportunity before Dean's medication wore off, the hunters made fast tracks back to Bobby's, still some five hours away. Bobby had already organized for Fred to meet them there, and hoped, with a few hours head start, that the doctor would be there by the time they arrived. As a precaution Bobby had also brought his own supply of medications with him, to keep Dean in a compliant state if needed, however much sedation that would take…

oooOOOooo

_**Singer's Salvage,**_

_**SOUTH DAKOTA**_

"Isn't there anything we can do to help him?" Sam pleaded with desperation.

Dean had been lashed to Bobby's rickety cast iron bed, in much the same manner he had been in the hospital. Even Sam had to admit it was the only way to protect the hysterical hunter, and also themselves. Fred was at hand to render medical aid, and even that was mostly at the doctor's peril.

"I really don't know. With everything he's been through…" Fred muttered with uncertainty. "I wish I knew what to do. But I can honestly say I've never had a patient suffering post traumatic stress after being incarcerated in Hell before!"

Dean was like a bound, wild animal; crazy, angry and terrified. His violent outbursts had become a common response from the hunter. He cowered from, or attempted to attack, all those around him, as well as the adversaries of his imagination's conjuring. His only settled periods were in the grips of heavy medication. Fred struggled to keep him sedated; a state he had warned was no solution. He continued to warn both Sam and Bobby that the degree of sedation necessary to subdue the terror struck and panic stricken patient was verging on near lethal dosage.

Dean's semi-lucid periods terrified even Sam and Bobby, when he would thrash about violently, pulling at his restraints to such a degree he, at one point, dislocated his own shoulder with his frantic attempt to free himself. Repairing the aggravation he managed to inflict upon his lacerations became a regular routine for the exasperated, yet kind-hearted doctor. Even so, although Dean was in obvious agony, he continued his incessant battle to both free himself and also fight all those around him, real, or imagined. His physical injuries seemed oblivious to him, as he lashed out at whom ever dare venture too close to him.

"Like that Doc in Wyoming said, he's trapped in his own delusions Sam…" Bobby replied remorsefully.

"I've seen this happen to a lot of men… not just hunters." Fred remarked after struggling to check Dean's wounds, and inserting another I.V. line. "Wouldn't take much to fracture a man's psyche, especially with the things you boys see, the things you do, but mostly, this time, the things done to him. I've seen men suffer horrific injuries. But this… Your brother's been tortured by, I fear, the best; his mind is more ravaged than his body."

"Will he… will he ever be ok?" Sam whispered hoarsely as emotions got the better of him, he couldn't bring himself to say it out too loud.

"Well…" Fred sighed. "I'd be lying if I said yes. He's alive, heaven knows how, so there's always hope… but I gotta tell you Sam, I'm really not sure how anyone could ever really… survive. Maybe he'll claw his way back to some semblance of sanity, but not without… scars; mental scars… there's a long road for him to travel before we'll ever see your brother again. When his physical pain is so inconsequential to him right now, I'd hate to image what they did to his soul…"

"He's literally gone to Hell and back for you Sam – That was _his _decision." Bobby consoled. "And I have no doubts he'd do it again! And there's not a doubt in my mind that if anyone can bring him back it's you, Sam. It may just take a little time… and patience, and a mass of reading through a few Psyche books…"

"But what if he's…" Sam's query paused mid-sentence. He seemed surprised he had actually asked the question out loud. "…what if he's not really Dean?" Sam groaned. "What if he's…"

"Possessed?" Bobby finished. "Ruby didn't seem to think so. An' I can't see why she'd lie about that… I'm not sure he could even be possessed by more than one entity at a time." He continued to contemplate the possibility; however he was reasonably sure it wasn't possible. "Ruby did warn us he was…"

"What?" Sam mumbled in response. "A little… '_frazzled_'?"

"Yeah." Bobby sighed. _'To put it mildly.'_ He corrected to himself.

"But… What if he's still trapped… in Hell?" Sam sighed.

"I'm guessing, in a way, he still is." Bobby admitted. "I don't think he's actually realized that he's free yet."

"So what do we do?" Sam groaned.

"We _hope_ he can find a way back to us." Bobby replied, with a noticeable lack of confidence. "And we keep trying to get through that thick skull of his until he does!"

Even though they tried to break though Dean's hallucinations and delusions, nothing seemed to fracture his impenetrable walls of Hell. No amount of hours upon hours of trying to talk Dean back into reality seemed to work. Sam tried everything, from soft soothing reassurances to screaming at him like John would have, ordering him snap out of it, but still nothing worked.

After a week Fred began to worry about Dean's declining wellbeing. He suggested Dean be readmitted to hospital, psychiatric or otherwise; he needed more care than any of them could give him. The I.V. line gave him vital fluids, however the distraught hunter was wasting away before their very eyes. He was barely more than skin and bones and at risk of succumbing to his wounds once more. His health was seriously deteriorating.

As the days passed, Bobby took to researching the possibility of anyone else had ever literally been 'to Hell and back'… he wanted a heads up on just how Dean may be if, or when, he ever woke up. The results weren't encouraging. 'Near death' experiences he found by the dozens, and most of those he was skeptical about. But to Hell and Back… aside from Dante's works there really wasn't much… But if Dante's descriptions held any truth or reality, he wasn't looking forward to the reunion.

"Hell, Bobby… What have I done?" Sam groaned as he watched as Dean was consumed by his nightmares again. He was deathly gaunt and pale, his face in a constant grimace of pain and torment. "I should never have… this was a mistake… We shouldn't have brought him back."

"No it wasn't." Bobby rebuked adamantly, sporting a new pallet of color across his jaw from one of Dean's proficient cuffs that he hadn't quite ducked in time. "He was in a hell-of-a-lot worse place before… hell Sam, he was in _Hell_! Even if this is as good as it will ever get for him, its better'n Hell!"

oooOOOooo


	8. Chapter 7

_**Quick warning:**__** Moderate use of offensive language is used in this chapter and quite some mention of torture.**_

**oooOOOooo**

As Dean began to toss and turn again, besieged by his nightmares, Sam knew what he had to do. If for no other reason he had to know what it was that tormented his brother so. He was certain it may be their only chance to get him back…

Sam sat on the other bed, across the room from Dean's, as he had done every day since they'd brought him back to Bobby's. And, as had become a Winchester way of late, Sam was about to attempt a last minute clutch at straws… He knew Fred was right about Dean, if he didn't return to a hospital soon there was every chance he'd simply waste away in a frenzied fit of terrified torment. And Sam couldn't just let him die, not again… But he knew, without a doubt, that Dean would rather die than spend the rest of his days restrained in some straight jacket, whilst being force fed hospital mush, possibly down some kind of feeding tube, given sponge baths by unattractive nurses… and wearing adult diapers! And he knew there wasn't a mental institution or psychiatrist that existed, that could ever hope to help his brother.

He held the coffee cup up and frowned with uncertainty. Dean would be mighty pissed at him for what he was about to do, he knew that. But Dean majorly pissed, beyond any measure of pissed that Dean had ever been before, would be a welcomed alternative to the hysterical, horror struck proxy brother he currently had. And he knew it would be risky, possibly mortally so, if anything went wrong, for him and Dean both.

"Bottom's up…" Sam muttered, toasting Dean as he raised his coffee mug into the air. "…best of luck." Not that he was superstitious (well about anything he'd already proved a fallacy, of course) but he could use all the luck he could beg, borrow or steal!

He dropped Dean's hair into the steaming brew and then sat back further upon his bed. He gazed at Dean as he writhed beneath the bed covers, arching his back up with a stifled groan of torment and agony and he knew he had no other option. With a huge breath and a lungful of courage Sam guzzled the Dream-root down in rushed gulps.

Then Sam was falling backwards… into darkness…

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Sam fell to the ground and found himself lying on a hard, rough surface in a dingy, dark cave of sorts. It was stuffy and hot, and smelt of sulfur and putrefied flesh. Sam cautiously raised himself up, as he surveyed his surroundings. He staggered cautiously to his feet as he pondered where Dean could be; it was after all his nightmare…

It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the murkiness he found himself in. The only light came from random pits of flaming pitch that cast long convulsing shadows, intermingled with the dancing flicker of fire-light against the cavern walls. Everything was dark and shadowy, and blood-red, from the radiant glow the fires created. And he knew this was where Dean's nightmares held him prisoner, even if he still wondered if this was what Hell looked like.

As he searched he feared he had passed Dean by in some dark, shadowy corner, or missed the entrance to some smaller grotto. The multitude of tunnels and adjoining caverns, every nook and cranny, had Sam searching wildly for his brother. His ears were filled with a constant, unwavering squalor of screaming and groaning. The bawl of agony and misery came from thousands, even tens of thousands, of tortured souls. It echoed through the labyrinth of dim grottos and cut through the constant crackle of fire. The walls and ground alike, of the dark cavern, were littered with semi-decomposed corpses. Or so Sam thought, until one emaciated, almost mummified body, chained to a wall, moved and groaned as rats and bugs ravaged what was left of its putrefying flesh. Sam had to remind himself that they weren't dead at all… well actually _technically_ they were... If this was Dean's recollections of Hell, then every last damned soul was already long dead and buried, even if their souls still lingered, condemned to Hell's eternity. Hence it wasn't their real bodies he had passed by, simply their souls in an echo of their mortal forms… or more precisely, Dean's recollections of their souls… Even so, the stench of death was overwhelming, and Sam had to raise his hand over his mouth and nose in a vain attempt to filter out the overpowering reek. He reminded himself it was all just Dean's nightmare although he gagged none-the-less, and he was amazed at how intense Dean's delusion really was. He forced himself to step over the remains of the damned souls, knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

He reminded himself this was all a dream, and the only soul he could possibly save here was Dean's… if only he could find him…

The resonance of torment and pain swam through Sam's head; amazed that so much pain and suffering, could be concentrated and condensed into one singular dream… He jogged aimlessly, turning and spinning around in frantic confusion. Dean's presence remained illusive…

He began to run, only pausing when he heard a long howl of agony echo forth from the dark shadows of a rocky chamber. He moved down a short tunnel and then spied around the corner of the rock face. He gazed at what was once a human being, now a gnarled and twisted corpse, impaled over a huge timber spike that had smashed through its chest and erupted out through the back. Weights hung from a multitude of huge hooks, piercing through the almost mummified flesh, dangling from the entire body. Rats sat atop its crumpled form gnawing away at its back, revealing splintered ribs and vertebrae. The figure moaned again, and an arm spasmed briefly as nerves and tendons were gnawed through. Amazingly, the man seemed to have survived; to groan and struggle in agony.

Sam sighed with relief when he confirmed the wretched soul wasn't Dean.

He turned around suddenly upon hearing the harsh rasping of frantic forced breaths and groans of agony, accompanied by the clanging of chains. A fleeting glimpse of a figure caught his eye, off to his right. A naked man; dirty, bruised and bleeding, with chains manacled to his wrists and ankles, staggered along the cavern wall in a frantic endeavor. The man stumbled in his haste, obviously having escaped some dungeon of torture, falling to his already grazed and bloodied knees. For a brief instant Sam caught sight of the man's face before he darted down a darkened grotto, leaving bloody hand prints across the obsidian rock face in his wake.

"Dean?" he called after him, certain it was his brother. Sam took chase after him. "Dean!" However, his repeated attempt to attract Dean's attention went unnoticed. All the while he feared he would find out, far too soon, Dean's all-too-real fate during his brief incarceration in Hell.

A shrill screeching, from behind him, startled Sam. As he slowed, and cast a hesitant glance over his shoulder, he gasped in horror at the sight that greeted him. Then he was forced to leap out of the way as two huge harpy-like creatures half bounded, half flew, down the confined grotto, presumably in pursuit of Dean. Sam scuttled to the side, however the creatures' focus was solely on Dean, and they leapt past him, apparently oblivious to his presence. Sam pursued them through a myriad of winding tunnels and passage ways. In a twist upon the usual appearance of a text book harpy, these creatures had elegant, if not beautiful female bodies, splattered with fresh, red blood, however their heads resembled that of a vulture. Their massive black beaks were blood stained, as were their huge taloned, bird-like feet. The creatures' immense black, leathery bat-like wings glistened in the flickering fire light, flapping spasmodically as they clambered in leaps and bounds, taking flight where possible, or scaling the rocky walls, in their scramble to reach their prey. They squawked and screeched with a deafening, high pitched tenor, thrusting their sooty, vulture heads back in mock battle cry. Their eyes glistened like smoldering embers, and feathery black tresses flowed like hair down their backs. As Sam took after them in pursuit, he heard as the creatures caught their prey…

Sam charged down the grotto in desperation, his chase halted in horror as he witnessed the two beasts clawing at the already mauled body of his brother. Sam stood atop a cliff, with no apparent means of lowering himself to the cave bottom, several meters below him. Instead he was forced to watch, helplessly, as the harpies attacked Dean.

Other damned souls lay cowering in the darkened shadows of the cave bottom. It was the nest of a whole flock of harpies, and many were feeding; ripping flesh, organs and intestines from their prey, and screeching with culinary delight.

And Dean was obviously fresh meat…

They swarmed upon him. One harpy had its beak clamped firmly on Dean's forearm, another had its claws embedded in his thigh. They fought over him, squabbling like true scavengers after the last bloody morsel. With a defiant heave, one clutched Dean's writhing body up in its huge taloned feet. It took flight, soaring upwards into the heights of the massive, vaulted ceiling of the cavern, heaving Dean up with it. A half a dozen others soared upwards in quick pursuit. They snapped and clawed at their quarry, eagerly trying to snatch their prize from their greedy cohort. For some minutes it would seem they were intent on dismembering him mid-flight. Their huge wings flapped, emitting quick, successive cracks of sound, like thunder, echoing through the grotto. The sudden bursts of wind turbulence threatened to extinguish the numerous pits of flaming tar beneath.

One harpy fastened its beak around Dean's calf, shaking its head in an effort to pry him from the other's grasp. However neither relinquished its grip upon him. They tugged at Dean's limbs, for ultimate possession. Dean screamed as their huge talons shredded his flesh, and their beaks shattered bone in their vice-like seize. When they failed to procure sole custody, they snapped at each other with equal viciousness. In their voracious one-eyed battle their trophy was dropped…

And Dean was falling… screaming in both agony and fear as he plummeted towards the black, charred ground beneath him of the rock cavern.

He crashed, with a bone crushing thump, onto the harsh rock floor, limbs askew and shattered by the impact. Blood and grey matter splattered from his shattered skull. Deep, bleeding gashes littered his body, and Sam was sure his entrails had spilled out from a deep evisceration to his abdomen. Survival was an impossibility…

Sam was instantly swamped with distraught mourning and utter grief… his quest had failed.

Dean was most certainly dead.

Sam scoured the rock face, desperate to reach Dean. His brother remained motionless, his only movement was caused by the scavengers as they ripped into the hunter's exposed flesh. And still the harpies fought for sole possession over his mangled corpse.

The harpies squabbled and bickered amongst themselves, momentarily sidetracked as they scuffled further away from their prize. And Dean miraculously moved! He forced his bloodied, crushed torso to crawl desperately away, leaving a glistening trail of blood and what appeared to be chunks of flesh behind him. Sam was awestruck. And he had to remind himself that if this was Dean's recollections of Hell, then Dean couldn't die. He simply couldn't: Certainly not in Hell, and hence not here… Ruby's words echoed in his thoughts; that there was only never-ending torment and pain, without the hope of death to put an end to it all.

Darkness quickly descended upon the damned Winchester, in a thunderous whooshing of flapping wings, as the harpies swooped back down upon him. Dean cowered from their instantly snapping beaks, as they began tearing at his torso again; ripping strips of flesh from his ribs, whilst their huge inch-long claws sank deep into his chest and limbs to restrain him. Dean fought desperately, trying to fend them off, smashing his fist into their bird-like heads, at risk of loosing his limb to the retaliating snaps and bites from their crushing beaks. The creatures hew the flesh from his failing limbs, until the stark white of bone was revealed. Dean's screams gurgled and hacked as their taloned feet clawed deep into his chest, and his lungs were crushed within their grip.

Sam began to scale the precipice in desperation, clambering down as best he could, seeking what few foot and hand-holds he could on the glassy black rock face. He was prepared to tackle the creatures barehanded, if need be, because somehow he had get Dean to wake up.

However as he neared the bottom, the harpies flinched away from Dean. Without warning they ceased their squabble and screeched in defense as a thunderous noise approached from behind them. Sam backed away, with equal trepidation. A dark figure loomed from out of the darkness of the huge grotto. The harpies hissed and raised their wings up, threatening the intruder.

From the shadows emerged a huge minotaurian creature as it cantered into the grotto, obviously in pursuit of their quarry. The half man, half bull, towering a good ten feet tall, came to a skidding halt, its huge hooves gouging deep ravines through the black earth beneath it. It had a black bull's head, upon the muscular torso of a man; it legs returning to bovine from the calves down. The harpies snapped at the beast, ferociously guarding their quarry. The bull roared with anger at them, its intentions clear that it wanted Dean for itself. The minotaur snorted as it stomped aggressively at the black dirt beneath its hooves, leveling its horns menacingly at the harpies.

In three long strides the bull had dashed towards them. With a swift lunge of it's massive, horned head it impaled one of the scavengers with ease. The winged-creature screamed and squirmed to extract itself from the minotaur's horn. The bull shook the harpy free, casting it several feet away with a colossal thrust. The harpy convulsed and screeched in agony as thick wine-red blood gushed from the piercing wound. The remaining scavengers cowered back from the defiant attacker, ever more respectful of the bull's strength and aggressive claim upon the hunter's damned soul. The harpies, with reluctant defeat, took flight, disappearing into the darkness of the endlessly high cavern ceiling above.

The immense minotaur claimed its prize with a resounding roar that echoed through the grotto and even caused the flames to flicker in response. The beast grabbed Dean by the shackles around his wrists and dragged him to his feet.

The creature snarled at Dean, in a succession of grunts and howls that may actually have resembled speech. Dean certainly seemed to comprehend the beast's verbalizations.

"You wish! You foul smelling excuse for prime rib!" Dean ground out, with a splattering of blood and groans, his glare defiant and repugnant. "Beat your sorry ass once before… will again… freakin' BBQ ya!"

The damned Winchester lashed out at his newest captor; however the superior strength of the minotaur was no match for the battered and beaten hunter. The bull clutched him up with ease, raising him high above his blood glistening horns and tossed him to the opposite side of the cavern. Dean's battered body smashed into the rock face and he bounced off with such force he crashed some feet away. The minotaur barked with what resembled laughter, followed closely by more undecipherable grunts and howls.

Dean winced with the overwhelming pain he was enduring; however his eyes remained glaringly defiant as he glowered back at the minotaur with hatred and loathing. Dean summoned the energy to lift his torso off the rough, black rock beneath him.

"Fuck you!" He ground out through tightly clenched teeth. The minotaur continued to laugh at Dean's paltry insolence, as he charged at him with horns lowered. The bull rammed into Dean, the breadth of its horns piercing through his shoulder and thigh. In one swift maneuver the minotaur tossed Dean back up into the air, its horns tearing back out through flesh and bone. Dean somersaulted several feet above the creature and then plummeted back into the awaiting cradle of the bull's horns.

Dean grasped the horns, with all his might, preventing the minotaur from repeating the act. He wrapped his dangling chains around the bull's neck, desperately trying to strangle the beast. The bull roared angrily, tossing its head about violently in an attempt to dislodge him, however Dean had effectively lashed himself to the creature. The minotaur raised its huge hands, grappling to tug the hunter from his firm position upon his shoulders. Dean's grip remained firm on the rusty chains encircling the minotaur's neck. However, Sam theorized, one could only presume that just as Dean could not die, in Hell, neither could the beast. Having failed in its endeavor to pry the hunter from its horns the minotaur changed strategies. It galloped towards the cave wall, where it slammed Dean into the rock face, repeating the task until he slumped to the ground in a crumpled heap, his chains clattering over him in testament to his final defeat.

The minotaur grabbed him by his ankle shackles and dragged the battered hunter away into the darkness. Despite his horrendous injuries Dean struggled and fought against the minotaur's grasp. He tried to lash out at the beast with a wrist clearly fractured. The minotaur continued to drag Dean, by the shackles, over the rough terrain. Dean bumped and bounced over the razor-like rocks, as huge gashes appeared down his torso, adding to the blanket of lacerations inflicted by the harpies.

Sam cautiously dropped to the ground, and quickly followed, acutely aware that he was at even greater peril in Dean's dream-scape than Dean himself. Even in his nightmares Dean knew there was no reprieve, no death to free him of his incarceration in Hell. In Hell he was already dead, so he could not die again. And maybe that was why he couldn't escape his nightmares; his mind had already accepted that he could never, ever escape. His nightmares would simply continue, on and on.

And maybe that's how the demons were created… by tormenting the soul to such an extent it willingly relinquished every last trace of humanity and the memories of any other life, simply to have all the torment stop.

Sam on the other hand knew perfectly well that if he died here, he died full stop…

The beast and its captive disappeared into the darkness. Sam struggled to find them as he charged along the gloomy passageways. He listened for his brother's cries again, both longed for and detested the sound. For, as much as he wanted to find where Dean's sub-consciousness had now imprisoned him, he feared what other horrors Dean had faced.

Sam passed into a gloomy passageway through the labyrinth. Dean's explicit retorts alerted him to which path to follow. The light was even less here, and Sam had to squint into the shadows to see anything at all. The bull moved with a rapid pace, and Sam had to resort to following the blood trail on a number of occasions when he lost sight of them. As he crept though the grotto, amid the constant shrieks of pain and agony from the multitude of other tortured souls, he heard the minotaur's distinctive roar, echoing from through a crevasse far too tight for either Dean or the bull to have passed through. How they had come to be on the other side Sam had no idea, for he could see no other access. As he gazed through the fissure Sam caught sight of Dean, and the bull...

Somehow Dean had found his feet, his fractures and wounds seemingly repairing, only to have new injuries swiftly metered out by the minotaur. Sam realized this was how Hell functioned: as a never-ending succession of torture and torment, one just leading to another, as the inflicted wounds miraculously healed, so that more pain and suffering could be exacted.

Now the minotaur and Dean were facing off, as the bull sought to crush Dean's lingering hopes of a reprieve to his torment. The minotaur charged, its horns gouging at Dean's chest with a loud, accompanying roar. Dean hissed with the pain as his side was ripped open. The bull turned immediately and charged again. It used its horns most effectively to torment Dean as he struggled back to his feet. The minotaur galloped at Dean, like a perverted Spanish Bullfight, only in this instance it would seem the bull held the upper hand. The minotaur thrust its horns at the hunter, dealing out painful, gory slashes in its game. Dean ducked and weaved trying desperately to avoid the bull's cutting attack.

Sam grimaced with the sight, trying to claw his way through the narrow fissure, but to no avail. Even his attempts to mentally alter the dream-scape failed. He apparently had no powers of persuasion over Dean's nightmare. He scanned the grotto for another way, but found the darkness far too obscure. He returned to his vigilant observation point, to watch Dean's fate.

In a brash endeavor Dean lunged at the bull as it charged at him once more. He almost straddled its broad shoulders, clasping onto its thick black pelt as he lunged sideways. His sheer momentum managed to unbalance the beast, toppling it to the ground. The minotaur roared with anger. Dean snatched his split second opportunity, to flee as the beast clumsily scuttled back to its feet. He searched for an escape, which served to be as obscure as Sam's search for an entrance. The bull swiftly took chase and charged. Its nostrils flared with aggression, its eyes burning with fury as it galloped, in a thunderous attack. Dean quickly realized the futileness of his escape. Instead he raised the chains manacled around his wrists defiantly, hoping to use them as a weapon. However as he tried to lasso the beast the shackles glanced of the bull's shoulders and Dean was propelled several feet into the air by the beast's horns. He landed heavily on the ground and quickly tumbled beneath the charging bull's hooves as it stampeded over him. The minotaur snorted with satisfaction as it swiftly trampled its quarry.

Sam's attention roamed past the battling foes, to a strange glimmer of red light, from two small orbs, emanating from the shadows. Sam was certain another creature dwelled in the darkness, observing the minotaur's cruel amusement, with only its glowing fiery-red eyes revealing its presence. A scrapping noise from the shadows confirmed Sam's suspicions revealing another observer to the bull's torment of Dean.

With the minotaur distracted by its torturous scuffle with the hunter, the creature made its move to challenge the bull for its prize. From the shadows a huge black scorpion, something the size of the Impala, emerged, scuttling quickly from the shadows with a loud clicking noise as the steel-like plates of its exoskeleton smashed against each other. Its immense tail swooped over its torso and smacked into the minotaur, sending the beast tumbling across the floor. The bull leapt to its feet in astonishment, prepared to charge at its challenger. As it galloped towards the scorpion the arachnid arched its flanged tail up and struck the minotaur through the chest. The bull wailed and grunted in pain, until the scorpion shook it free and duly claimed its prize. The minotaur skulked away, its huge hands gasping at the thick blood gurgling from its wounds as it disappeared into the darkness.

As Dean struggled to stand the scorpion pounced upon him, thrusting its immense tail clean through his chest. Blood erupted from Dean's mouth, spluttering in a steady flow down his naked torso. The creature lifted him up until his feet dangled spasmodically in the air. His whole body convulsed and trembled with the pain. The wound should have been fatal… had this not been Dean's nightmare… of Hell.

The scorpion seized him up in its gigantic claw, sliding him off its tail with a blood curdling slurping sound, intermingled with the brittle sound of smashed rib bones grinding together. All the while Dean remained conscious, hissing back his screams of agony, whilst glaring with waning defiance at his next tormentor. Behind the scorpion stood its master; a gnarled, age weathered old man. He peered at Dean, circling him and the scorpion, in his examination. Sam couldn't quite hear what was said by the frail looking demon, however Dean seemed to reply. Sam wondered if it was the true form of a demon Dean, or both, had at some stage exorcised back to hell. Dean's responses did not seem like casual conversation, and as Dean yelled some kind of abuse, the scorpion tightened its clawed grip about his waist, threatening to sever him in two. The demon laughed and the scorpion thrust the hunter to the ground. In an instance the arachnid thrust its tail back at the hunter, smashing through Dean's shoulder, effectively impaling him to the ground. The old man waved his hands and the ground came to life in a sea of bugs. Spiders, scorpions, cockroaches and a multitude of ants and flies filled the chamber. Dean was swiftly blanketed by the bugs, gnawing at his exposed wounds, feeding of his blood and burrowing under his skin. He screamed as they bore into every bodily cavity until he gagged on the mass of creepy-crawlies invading his mouth and throat.

The old man laughed and gloated as he scuttled around his victim. The bugs eventually covered Dean totally, until the insects lay several feet deep in the cave and Dean was lost in the churning, scuttling mound of glistening black movement.

Then the ground beneath seemed to open up and, in an avalanche plunging downwards, swallowed Dean and copious bugs whole. As swiftly as the human-like mound of creepy-crawlies dispersed, bugs swarmed over the vacant area in a frenzy.

With a wave of his arms, the demon parted the sea of bugs to reveal the black rocky ground beneath. Dean was definitely gone. The demon roared with anger at the devious theft of its captive. He snarled at the scorpion, presumably commanding the arachnid to find his captive. The scorpion thrust its tail high into the air and then smashed it downwards into the impenetrable ground beneath. Huge chunks of rock exploded from the creatures repeated thrusts, striking like a jack hammer, into the ground. However the rock refused to relinquish its captive.

Eventually the demon scurried swiftly into the darkness, with a screech of fury. The scorpion circled several times, antagonized by its masters high pitched squeal, then retreated into the grotto behind him.

Sam searched again for an entrance, running along the cave tunnels in his desperation. The rising heat was overwhelming. When he found a passageway that he hoped led in the right direction he hastened his pace. A cloak of black befell him as he staggered along the tunnel, using his hands to guide him forward. When he eventually stumbled into the cavern he found it empty, save for a multitude of lingering bugs… He dropped to his knees and desperately shoved the insects aside with his bare hands, repeating the notion to himself that they couldn't harm him, even as they bit and stung him. He found nothing but the cavern floor beneath…

Almost as he gave up hope of ever finding Dean again the earth beneath him softened and gave under his weight. Sam was falling again.

He thudded to the ground with a lung bruising thump; and he was sure he had himself fractured several bones… upon closer inspection he found that his foot lay painfully at an unnatural angle. And the familiar shooting stabs of pain in his arm left him with no doubt he'd fractured his wrist again. And then he reminded himself it was just a dream, and he hoped he had the power to influence what happened around him. With determination he willed away the pain… He stood up, confident no harm had come to him, flexing his repaired limbs with satisfaction. He grinned to himself: Finally, one point to Sam… at least he could control what affected him, even if he couldn't apparently change the solid fortifications around him, conjured by Dean's dream.

As he surveyed his surroundings he found he had been dumped into an immense cavern. Huge chains hung from somewhere in the uppermost, heights of the cavern's ceiling; far too high for him to discern, the chains disappearing into pitch black. Tortured souls hung, suspended by the chains, dangling precariously over a vast sea of lava.

Suddenly there was screaming, and a clattering of more chains…

Sam glanced up to see a body plummeting out of the darkness, like some kind of demonic bungee jump. Only there was no bungee rope, or precautionary bed of water beneath. Just chains and a sea of lava. Chains clattered and jangled as they unrolled in the descent. However, once the chains came to an end, when the rapid plummet came to an abrupt halt, there was no stretch to the chains, no absorption of the impetus. And Hell's victim was jerked to a screaming halt, dipped into the surrounding magma, and then rebounded upwards only to plummet back down again. The damned soul had been fixed by way of impalement, by huge iron spikes, to a weathered timber plank, spanning from one wrist to the other, which was then suspended from the chains. A wail of excruciating agony erupted from the tortured man's screaming mouth. The huge spikes, nailed through each wrist, ripped through flesh and bone, almost severing his hands from his forearms with the sudden inertia. His feet splashed into the sea of molten lava beneath him with an explosion of flames and displaced magma.

It was Dean that hung from the large, age-gnarled timber plank, to which his wrists had been pierced by huge spikes. The whole torture instrument remained suspended from the cavernous roof by rusty chains. He remained, stripped naked, his face was almost unrecognizable; he'd been so brutalized. Blood streamed down his body in fresh and dried rivulets, from hundreds of lacerations, the huge gaping holes of the scorpion's impalements still visible in his gut and shoulder. His limbs and torso were battered and bruised. His feet that dangled above the molten lava below him were blackened with burns, and mangled and swollen with abuse, scorched up to his calves where burnt skin had peeled away in sheets to reveal raw flesh beneath.

Sam tried to reach Dean, however the floor around his brother was a moat of molten lava, hissing and bubbling like a witch's cauldron. As huge bubbles exploded across the surface, scorching splashes of magma exploded up against Dean's calves and seared his naked flesh. Masses of fires burned in varying pits, emitting a flickering red glow through the cavern, the only lighting as such, and casting long blackened shadows across the ground.

A huge, grotesque, hunched-back being with a ragged, blood-stained hood, covering most of its face, emerged from the darkness. It chuckled to itself, chortling with anticipated glee. It paced briefly before Dean. Somehow the lava-like ground obeyed the needs of Hell's own, miraculously solidifying beneath the creature as it traversed the breadth of the cavern. It carried a long staff in its gnarled and twisted hand, from which three long leather cords were attached. Sam realized it was actually a long bone of sorts, still covered in a mummified hide, from which long leathery tentacles had grown in some unnatural mutation. The leather thongs each sprouted a succession of curved, black, talon-like claws, akin to a saw blade. Each tendril ended with an inch long talon, curling back on itself like a grappling hook.

"Get away from him!" Sam yelled at the creature; however it, and Dean, remained oblivious to his presence. As he skirted the molten moat he tentatively told himself it was all a dream, Dean's dream. That nothing here was real, just a creation of Dean's sub-consciousness. Hoping his ability to alter his surroundings had strengthened he tried to imagine the moat away, controlling the dream-scape with his own will, just as he had his own injuries… however as he ventured to step out across the lava bed, his boot hissed and smoldered. He could feel the sole of his foot burning within. He stepped back. Dean's delusions were incredibly strong, far too potent for Sam to apparently alter. And he had to remind himself that if he died here, in Dean's nightmare, he died in real life too…

The demonic-torturer hunched, in a slow stilted motion. The deformed, sub-human creature lashed at Dean's legs with the whip of spiked leather straps, leaving angry red welts and deep lacerations in lines across Dean's thighs and buttocks. His torturer spat out accusations and loathing, in a strange brusque dialect, only barely comprehensible. Dean was already so traumatized he barely flinched with each flogging; instead he glared at his attacker, with repugnance and abhorrence. The creature angrily lashed out at Dean's chest, where the spiked thongs embedded themselves into his ravaged flesh. The creature ripped the whip-like instrument down across his torso, tearing open long ragged wounds in its wake. The being received its desired level of torment. Dean screamed in agony as he flinched backwards, propelling himself away from his assailant, with his bruised and fire-blacked feet, until his wrists twisted and turned upon the spikes threatening to amputate each damaged appendage. Every struggle lowered Dean further into the lava beneath him. The creature cackled with delight, resuming its torture with further lashings.

Dean swore a string of explicit obscenities at the creature as it resumed its task, to which the hunchback retaliated by lashing out at Dean in a frenzy. The whip cut to the bone with the creature's ferocity. One lash ripping Dean's cheek open, from temple to jaw. The ragged skin flapped as Dean screamed with the ongoing excruciating agony. Sam could see his cheek bone and upper mandible as clearly as a university display skeleton. Blood streamed down his face and torso to join many other rivers of red. It fuelled the creature's frenzy, spurred it to flog him with a repetitive, age-honed, expertise.

"NO! You son-of-a-bitch!" Sam exclaimed. "DEAN!" He tried to break through Dean's delusion, to make contact. However Dean's nightmare remained steadfastly fortified from disruption.

Sam's mind rallied, even this, his desperate measure to save Dean seemed doomed to failure. For Dean knew Sam could never exist in this place, so his mind apparently refused to acknowledge his presence. Sam collapsed to his knees in anguish. He had to remind himself Dean was only dreaming…

And that he simply no longer existed in Dean's mind.

He searched the cavern for a means to reach his brother. If he could just make contact, touch him, hold him, king hit him if he had to... He knew it was his only, meager hope at reaching Dean. Somehow how he had break through Dean's impenetrable nightmarish walls.

Instead, as Sam inspected the huge cavernous cave they were now in, he gasped in horror. The cavern was endless… The random pits of flames had increased in size and number; some pits of fire as large as a swimming pool. He staggered around and into the enormity of the cavern. Small lakes of molten lava hampered his progress, camouflaged by the poor lighting and the crusty black surface that only cracked to reveal its true liquid magma form beneath when he attempted to stand upon it.

Sam had to shield his eyes, from the heat emitted from the flames. He had entered a fantasy-scape, of a vast cavern, its roof so high it appeared like a black sky above a sea of lava, in places it was walled by plunging cliffs, from which a huge rock bridge spanned from one side to the other. However as he gaped in awe at the scene, it was like standing at land's end, peering out onto an endless ocean, without end. Thousands, upon thousands of chains hung from the upper limits, from which the damned hung, slowly being emerged into the magma sea beneath. Others were being tormented by Hell's torturers, by way of flogging or flaying. Somehow, he was sure; he was privy to Hell's mass torture dungeon, a monumental slaughterhouse of damned souls.

And the damned screamed; in a long, continual howl of pain and sorrow. Each voice was swallowed by the next, until the noise became a constant, hackle raising, wail. It was an enormous sea of suffering and torture.

As Sam turned back around he realized with a terrifying awareness that he'd lost Dean in the throng of tortured souls. So many damned hung from chains, some semi-immersed in the molten lava sea beneath them. Some souls were fully engrossed into the molten rock, whilst others continued to be tortured by Hell's minions.

Sam searched for Dean, his eyes bouncing from one brutalized victim to the next, without result. As he carefully negotiated his way through the sea of tortured souls and precarious pits of hellfire, he willed Dean into sight…

And he appeared before him.

Dean's broad shoulders and his still defiant posture were unmistakable. Just meters away, Sam caught sight of his brother. Dean was almost fully immersed in the lava lake in the center of the cavern. He dangled, like the innumerable others, from the thick chains, still secured to the timber to which his wrists had been impaled.

Dean hung with his ankles brushing across the fiery pool of lava beneath him. Flames ate their way up his calves, searing the flesh away in large flakes, exposing charred and blackened skeletal feet. His torturer continued to circle him, persisting with the flogging. Sam gagged and began to retch at the sight. Dean struggled desperately, attempting to lift his legs from the magma; however every wriggle only served to inch him further into the molten rock. He screamed endlessly, the agony only intensifying with his desperate struggle, as he dropped further into the magma as it charred his knees. The hunchback continued its torment, intent on brutalizing Dean until the lava completely consumed him. The thick raging red molten rock was quickly swallowing Dean, bubbling up around him and searing away what flesh remained on his thighs. Dean began sinking into the intense molten rock, as flames erupted around him, enveloping his writhing agonized form in an explosion of fire.

Sam leapt across the pools of lava, scampering along a trail obviously never intended as a causeway, for the beasts of Hell did not seem to require such means. He stood at the edge of the lava lake, only to witness as fiery arms reached out through the molten rock and latched onto Dean's waist. Dean was yanked down with such ferocity the chains that bound him shattered entirely and he was pulled completely into the lava. An explosion of fire and a blazing splash the only thing left in his wake.

Sam screamed for his brother, aghast by the sight of watching Dean seemingly die again. And yet he knew it wasn't so… he knew Hell couldn't kill the dead.

As he staggered about aimlessly, with a growing sensation of defeat, by the futility of his endeavor, Sam realized all too late that the ground beneath him had cracked and liquefied. He was being swallowed by the molten lava that surrounded him. _'Only a dream, only a dream!'_ He reminded himself as the scorching sludge cremated his flesh. He screamed in agony as he was dragged through Dean's nightmare as sure as if he had been physically tethered to his brother by the same chains that had Dean bound. The agony consumed him as swiftly as the magma. _'Can't die… can't…'_ He tried desperately to believe…

Unconsciousness, or death, swallowed him and darkness prevailed.

As he awoke he hoped his conscious determination had succeeded, and not death, in transporting him there. For he woke to find himself in the same Hellish grotto he'd first woken to. Uncertainty reeled about his thoughts. How could he know for sure if this was still Dean's illusion, or had he really died, only to have been condemned to Hell for his past misdemeanors?

He rubbed his palm over a razor like outcropping of stone until his flesh flayed and bled. Then he willed the wound away… his heart pounded in his chest, hoping against all the odds that Dean's nightmare hadn't succeeded in claiming his life… Relief washed over him as the lacerated flesh on his palm, closed and disappeared. "Oh Thank God…" He muttered, as he realized he was still in Dean's delusions. Although he was still cautiously aware that Hell could just as likely use such relief to simply torture him later…

But for now his greatest torture was in knowing the horrors Dean had faced during his imprisonment. And knowing that Hell had been Dean's entire eternity. No wonder he couldn't sense the reality of his freedom. His mind had already decreed that there would be no reprieve from his incarceration. Sam became even more determined to release his brother from his self-imposed illusion of Hell that, even beyond the confines of damnation, continued to keep him captive. He scoured the grotto, once again beginning his desperate search for Dean.

The unrelenting screams through the grottos echoed and taunted him. The weight of the suffering that the wails carried was near unbearable. Never had any living soul witnessed such a vast magnitude of anguish and misery. Or the pain and agony, steeped so deep in hopelessness and despair that he felt he was drowning in a sea of blood and tears. His own hopes, of saving Dean, were eroding as his futile mission seemed only to drag him further away from any means of liberation for his brother. He had failed…

However, through the screams, Sam startled at one, very familiar tenor. And he knew Dean was there somewhere. Thoughts of abandoning his quest evaporated and Sam ran down the cavernous corridor.

His heart pounded in his rib cage, stopping altogether when Dean's attempt to stifle yet another scream of agony fell well short. He was close. Sam ducked down another corridor that meandered and turned into complete darkness. Sam smacked his head on the roof as the tunnel constricted and tightened. Then another scream. Sam began to jog, with his hands out stretched, as his heart resumed its racing pace.

The tunnel opened up into another of Hell's dungeons. Sam stopped dead in his tracks. Screaming filled his ears.

He ran down another of the infinite tunnels, in desperation, searching every nook and cranny. Somewhere, Dean's gurgled screams echoed through the maze of burrows, and Sam took flight. He proceeded down a narrow, darkened tunnel, that twisted and turned, passing several forks and cross roads in the endless labyrinth of grottos. Sam passed numerous tortured souls along the way, impaled and chained, some merely skeletal corpses, gnawed at by devilish rodents. Others were immersed in pools of boiling blood, most dangled in head first.

He passed by a number of cloaked, deformed and haggard brutes, Hell's torturers, as he searched for Dean. However Dean was not among the tortured. And thankfully the sadistic minions remained focused on their own tasks; of flogging, disemboweling and hacking at the damned with whips, hooks and knives. He could hear yet other tortured souls screaming in torment, from the darkness of other tunnels and passageways, and he wondered what other horrors lay in wait for the ill-fated souls. More screaming and agonized groaning filled his ears, although now he had ceased to respond to the sound. It had become almost unnoticeable to the hunter, like a constant white noise. All except one…

"Fuck you…" Dean's voice gushed, from somewhere in the darkness, his voice strangled and muffled. "Eat… fucking… shit!"

The gurgled, adamant remark, harsh coughing and a loud groan had Sam turn on a dime and duck down a narrow tunnel.

"Now, now, Dean Winchester, we've been expecting you! Waiting in… an-tic-i-pation!" A male voice laughed with amusement. "We knew it was only a matter of time, until you arrived, and that can be just a fleeting moment down here." The chuckling voice taunted. "We have some amends to extract…"

"Yes my pretty." A distinctly female voice added. "I have some definite plans for you…"

"Get ya damned hands off me!" Dean clearly rebutted.

Sam continued to follow the echoes of the conversation through the darkened passage way. The voices sounded so very close, however every twist and turn of the grotto led him no nearer…

"That's what I like to hear!" A loud, terse voice snarked. "You wanna kill her? Maybe you wanna tackle her to the ground… Have your way with her… Take your frustrations out on her?"

"Fuck Off!" Dean snapped back angrily.

"Ohhhh… why don't you make me?" The terse voice taunted. "Come on, you can do it…" There was a short pause before the voice continued, obviously with greater annoyance. "You pussy! Does this make you angry? Or this?" Sam recognized the unmistakable grunts and muffled groans that followed the succession of noise of fist upon flesh.

The beating and the taunting continued. Brief rips of electric-like shocks filled the air with muffled, agonized screams… electrocution Sam realized. And intermingled with the cries was the sounds of hacking or clawing, the ripping and tearing of… flesh.

"That's gotta hurt?" The terse voice queried sadistically. "You wanna cry yet?"

Pain and suffering was extracted amidst amused laughter. Sam recognized every agonized moan as Dean's… But not the sadistic mirth that belonged to someone, _something_, else…

"Hmmm… that's it, now I can feel your anger welling, it's like a pulsating wave of exhilaration, pouring off you." The terse voice commented.

"Fuck you!" Dean panted; a slight moan tagged his statement.

"Let it loose…" The demon demanded. "Show me your wrath…"

Silence ensued. Sam knew that however angry Dean may have been he'd fight any and every emotion to suppress what the demon so openly craved…

"Ohhh no. He's a lover…" The female voice piped up. "… not just a fighter." Her remark was followed by what Sam could only decipher as an amorous advance.

"Don't!" Sam heard Dean reply angrily.

The terse voice laughed with satisfaction. "That's it… teach her a lesson… What are you waiting for? It's not like you have any respect for the more gentile sex anyway…"

"No… Poor Dean. Sam got all the gentlemanly qualities…" Another smooth, low voice remarked. "He got all the right attributes, didn't he? The smarts, the character, the camouflage of normality… Everything he could use to fit into a regular life…"

Sam paused at the accusation and wondered; _'Had he? It certainly didn't feel that way…'_

"Yeah, I guess families are like that." Dean retorted in the distance. "Everyone has their qualities… Some get the brains, some the brawn. Me, I got the dashing good looks, and the know-how on how to exterminate the likes of you!"

"Well not quite all of us!" The smooth voice sniggered.

"No… We had been a family for many millennia…" The female voice announced with anger of her own. "Until you and yours!"

"They got what they deserved!" Dean distinctively replied. "Shoulda killed your asses too! Let me loose and I'll fix that little oversight!"

"Yes, let's!" The terse voice demanded. "I want to see more of what he's got!"

"You'll have your turn!" A rough voice remarked. "He's mine first!"

"Why's that?" The female demanded.

"Because I found him first!" The rough voice replied. "And I say he drinks now!" The voice commanded.

"Your methods are so benign!" The terse voice complained. "No passion, no color!"

"I'll show you color!" The rough voice replied.

Sam heard as Dean gagged and coughed violently, explicit obscenities intermingled with strangled attempts to breathe. Sam began to run through the never-ending labyrinth of tunnels and caves, passing innumerable dungeons and tortured, damned souls…

He wearied quickly; the suffocating extreme heat had intensified the deeper he proceeded into the grottos. He was forced to slow and catch his breath, in fear of passing out from heat exhaustion… if that was even possible in a dream-scape. Blood pounded through his ears like a thunder storm, and he had to calm himself to hear Dean again. It took what seemed like eons before he realized once more that he was actually dreaming, even if it was Dean's nightmare… his heart had no need to be pounding like he'd run a marathon, even if it also pounded with trepidation and fear for the tribulations his brother had most likely endured…

As his heart calmed he heard Dean's gagged choking, as it echoed through every passage way. Even so, Sam was still at a loss as to where he had disappeared to.

He searched for his brother, confident that Dean's dream must surely have led him in the right direction. He could never have imagined the sights he'd seen so far, they could only have been drawn from Dean's own memories. His journey, and his search, was tied to Dean's experiences, and Dean had dreamt this… had possibly had to endure this… he hoped the tether that bound him to Dean still existed.

"I'm sure Samuel has embraced his freedom by now…" Another male voice chortled. "He don't even know ya here. Thinks he's saved ya… damned fool! Word is; Sam's livin' it up. Partying, with his brother! Only he ain't partying with his real brother, that's for damned sure, ain't it Winchester! Just who d'ja think is walkin' round in your boots?"

"NO!" Dean objected, still coughing and spluttering. "He wouldn't…"

"Let me play now…" The female voice interrupted. "Just let me have him for a while… I want to party too! Before you mess him up!"

Sam finally staggered into the right grotto. He'd passed it by, he didn't know how many times, hadn't even noticed it was there… or it hadn't been. Dean was shackled to the craggy cave wall, by his hands. Although he had been given enough chain, Sam suspected, to try and 'hang' himself with. Even as Sam watched in horror, acid dripped from stalactites on the roof, spilling in succession in raw rivers down his torso, eating away his flesh in acidic erosion. He'd obviously been beaten again, tangled with one of the four demons that circled him. They appeared human enough, except for their oily black eyes of course…

An attractive brunette, clad like a high class hooker, was pawing at his naked brother, running her red-lacquered fingers over his bruised and bloodied biceps, as one leg straddled his thigh in nothing short of seduction.

"Not yet!" A tall weighty man, with the rough voice, boomed. "He hasn't finished drinking yet!" With that the man raised his hand and blood began to gurgle from Dean's mouth. Dean attempted to spit the vile fluid from his mouth, splattering the woman in crimson. However the weighty demon's will forced him instead to gulp it down. Sam speculated it wasn't actually Dean's blood coming up from within, the demon had created it solely so that Dean had to consume it. As Dean gulped and gagged on the crimson liquid the brunette stomped away angrily, wiping the splash of blood from her face. "You have all eternity…" He added to the woman with a grin.

"Sam should be the one here, shouldn't he Dean?" A fair haired, slender man smirked from a darkened corner, where he leaned contently back against the grotto wall with his arms folded across his chest. "This is, after all, supposed to be his realm, his kingdom… you surely don't deserve all this? What with you being the self-sacrificing, ever-protective big brother… your father's good little soldier…"

Dean glared back at the man with vehement. His eyes glimmered pure green in anger. "Fuck… off!" He coughed out as the other continued to force him to drink down the copious pints of blood.

Sam recognized the demons; it wasn't a hard identification at all. They were the remaining Seven deadly Sins: Envy, Gluttony and Lust. Plus one more: Wrath, Sam was pretty sure. The few that they; he, Dean and Bobby, had exorcised. Ruby had executed the remaining three… Pride, Sloth and Greed. They were no longer in the hosts he had last seen them in, but distinguishable none-the-less. He staggered into the grotto, a little unsteady from exhaustion and the chase. However his presence remained unnoticed. As he approached Gluttony he attempted to tackle the demon to the ground, however he found himself falling through the delusion like he'd tackled a ghost.

The demons' conversation persisted undeterred…

"Why, Dean?" The fair-haired man, Envy, continued. "Why are you the one condemned here? We all know Sam's the evil one… And even ya daddy deserved his damnation, for the life he stole from you, the lives he corrupted with his insane need for revenge, and yet he got a get-out-of-jail-free card. But you Dean, you did nothing to warrant your damnation… Ya had a gold pass Dean, straight to the land of milk an' honey, and ya gave it away… just like ya life… ya gave up everything, ya childhood, ya dreams, ya future, ya soul… all to save ya self-satisfying, always-got-what-he-wanted, daddy's favorite, evil spawned brother…"

"Fuck Off!" Dean ground out through gritted teeth.

"Don't you just want to rip his head off?" Wrath demanded, his black eyes glimmered in the half-light with excitement, playing off Envy's taunt.

"NO!" Dean gagged. His stomach was painfully swollen and extended by the quantity of blood he had been forced to swallow down. His mouth, chin and chest were painted red by the overflow. He groaned with the agony of his distorted organs, and he gagged with repulsion and over-consumption, although he was unable to spew the offending blood up from his guts. "He's… not… evil!"

"'Course not… Azazel just took a fancy ta his placid demeanor and rugged good looks…" Envy laughed with amusement. "But I know ya want ta know _'Why Sam?'_ Why is he the special one? All these years, you've always been the better hunter, the obedient son, the one who always had to sacrifice… the better looking…" Envy grinned with delight as he taunted Dean. "… And yet one of the most powerful entities in the universe still picks Sam… over you. Even ya father always put Sam 'afore you. Your only worth was as his protector!"

"No!" Dean objected. "He'd do the same…"

"Really, would he? I mean it didn't seem to bother him that you were going to die… and go to HELL… because HE stuffed up – BIG TIME!" Envy accused. "He coulda bailed ya out of your deal, and died, like he should'a all along. And yet you're the one dead, hacked and ripped at by the master's hounds… and Sam's living it up."

Gluttony paused his forced feeding. Taking amusement from Envy's scathing words… words that seemed all too true.

"It was you, Dean, like always…" Envy continued. "You had to pay for his mistake, like you have your whole life. And the damnation of your whole life, it's because of Sam: Azazel killed your mom, set your daddy on his one-eyed road of vengeance. All because of Sam! We all know he's why you're here!" Envy paused for effect, smirking at the scowl he'd forced upon Dean's angered brow. "HE got sloppy, HE let his guard down and HE got himself killed. And yet you've had to pay for HIS mistakes not just with ya life, but with your whole-eternity!"

"I'm betting _now_ you'd happily let him rot! _In Hell_, or otherwise…" Wrath added with a smirk of satisfaction. "Damned coward that he is, he _obviously _wouldn't do the same for you! You're simply not worth it! Still, with his deceit he'll probably get some good seats down here, when his time comes! He is afterall… Hell-tainted! He's damned through and through! Evil to the core!"

"NO!" Dean snapped back with the anger Wrath had sought. Dean lunged at the demon, pulling on his restraints as far as he could to lash out. Wrath laughed with amusement, side stepping Dean's clumsy blow; Dean's mind and body queasy and clumsy from Gluttony's forced consumption of blood.

Wrath continued to chortle as his fist smashed into Dean's over-extended abdomen and exacted an agonized groan from the damned hunter, and Dean slumped to his knees. Dean glared back with restrained rage, only to be met with a swift knuckle to his jaw. Wrath exacted his pleasure with brutal glee: His fists and boots, pounding at their downed victim with no mercy what so ever.

Envy joined the party, not wanting to be out done of course. Churning balls of electricity burst forth from his palms, lighting the entire cavern as he tossed them at Dean. Dean froze with the impact, then gagged and shuddered uncontrollably as the electricity surged through his body.

Sam forgot the rules; the laws of the dream-scape, and lunged towards Wrath with clear intentions of doling out retribution in kind. His retaliation was met with no obstruction at all, as his fist flew through Wrath's skull like a magician stepping through smoky dry-ice .

It was an intruder who put a stop to the beating. Ruby had been right again; it would seem every damned soul the Winchesters had exorcised back into Hell, were after Dean to extract their own revenge…

Loud thunderous footsteps boomed through the grotto, sending shock waves of vibrations through the rocky ground. Dean's head snapped up, startled into terrified consciousness, as he recognized the sound of another tormentor. Even the sadistic Deadly Sins cowered at the noise; their eyes flickered into the dark in fear, awaiting the arrival of what must be a much more potent tormentor.

Sam scoured the long pitch-black tunnel in search of the cause behind the approaching noise. With caution he scuttled across the sweltering floor, into a darkened corner. He nestled in the safety of the shadows, flicking away the numerous creepy crawlies there. After his experiences so far he wasn't certain he had any discernable control over Dean's nightmare. He simply didn't know what would, or wouldn't materialize as real to him; and he had no desire to face one of Hell's own torturers.

As the shadows gave way, a huge demon entered the grotto. And 'Devil-like' best described the creature. It was well over eight feet tall, with a ruddy, thick, leathery hide. It had huge broad and muscular shoulders, spanning a good three feet, bulging biceps and beefy forearms that attached to immense, taloned-hands. Its huge head was goat-like and affixed on a neck that was barely distinguishable from its shoulders. Two massive spiraling horns sprouted from each temple, and goat-like eyes, burning red like hell's own fires peered into the darkness of the grotto. Its back and shoulders were covered with a thick shock of chestnut fur that ran down its chest into a V at its waist, and then expanded out over the groin and buttocks and down its legs. Its legs were also that of a goat, like some demonic faun, with a thick cherry coating of fur and broad black cloven hooves the size of buckets. The ground shuddered beneath its steps, and black dust erupted with every footfall. It grunted as it approached, seeking attention.

The demon back-handed the semi-defiant Wrath, like he was no more than a midget, tossing the demon aside. Lust, Gluttony and Envy backed away. Sam was startled to think there were obviously demons far more powerful than the likes of The Seven Deadly Sins… or four of them… They scampered away, cursing with abuse in a language unknown to Sam.

Dean was visibly terrified, struggling against his restraints until fresh blood streamed down his wrists from the aggravation. The incarcerated hunter shook his head, pleading for a reprieve, muttering softly, 'No, please…' however no mercy or abstinence was forthcoming. The creature roared an amused response; its strained version of a laugh most likely.

"Doest thou still bleed, Bestial?" It queried in an articulate, booming voice. It reached for Dean's chest and ran its taloned-fingers down his chest. Lacerations burst open, the demon's claws flaying the flesh apart like a surgeon's scalpel. It didn't seem to mater that Dean's physical body was absent, his soul most certainly bled. And he screamed with agony. The creature chuckled with satisfaction.

"Doest thou still breathe, Bestial?" The demon leaned forward, standing menacingly close and curled its lip in a malicious smile. It snorted as it sniggered, its rank breath blustering through Dean's hair.

"No… please…" Dean pleaded. "Not again…"

It broke Sam's heart, because Dean never begged…

The demon placed its huge hand over Dean's chest, the breadth of its appendage almost as wide as the elder Winchester's bare torso. As it chuckled contently, Sam's knees almost buckled in horror. The creature proceeded to sink its talons into Dean's chest, forcing its claws through flesh and bone. Sam could hear as Dean's ribs snapped in succession with the intrusion and his brother gasped for breath. Blood spewed from his mouth and poured from the wounds to his chest. Dean's gasped shriek gagged in his throat as the creature constricted his lungs and heart, slowly shattering his ribcage. Squeezing its hand closed about the hunter's vital organs and simulating an agonizing death. Dean's eye's bulged with asphyxiation and blood loss, his face paled and his lips rapidly turned blue. But he couldn't die. He could only suffer through the excruciating torture of it.

Dean screamed again as the demon withdrew its bloodied claws from his chest, with a blood curdling slurping sound. Blood gushed from the wounds, and Dean was left gasping painfully for breath his body did not need. Blood gurgled and bubbled from his mouth, streaming down his chin to create crimson rivers down his chest. His blood hissed and dried as it splattered across the scorching ground beneath his feet.

Sam could only conjecture that the beast apparently seemed to be testing the progression of Hell's effect on Dean's perceived human mortality and humanity… testing just how much still remained. As yet Dean still bled, still breathed, still felt, and still reacted to the torment of the flesh. He was still more human, than not.

Sam sprang from his hiding place yelling at the creature. "Get the fucking hell away!" He shrieked desperately, almost ploughing through the lava lake between him and the creature. He stopped short as his foot reached the edge of the molten barrier and his boot ignited into flames. "STOP! I swear to God…" He stomped the flames out. Only God was nowhere to be found…

However neither Dean, nor the creature acknowledged his presence. Sam was desperate. How could he convince Dean everything he was suffering was of his own mind's making? That it was all a dream? Certainly not if he couldn't make himself known… Somehow he had to get Dean to acknowledge him, to actually realize he was there…

"Doest thou still remember, Bestial?" The beast chuckled with malicious delight. The demon wrapped both its hands around Dean's head in its immense grasp until his cranium was lost in its clutch. Again the creature forced its talons into Dean's flesh, his skull shattering with the force of the demon's intrusion. Its fingers disappeared into Dean's skull, and the tortured hunter howled with an ear piercing shriek as taloned fingers delved deep into his mind.

Sam wasn't quite sure how, or when, but in the blink of an eye, the demon had suddenly transformed.

It was Meg…

"I'm sure you remember me now!" She cooed with her seductive velvety voice. Her fingers clenched tighter around Dean's skull. "Don't you Dean?"

Dean's eyes opened wide like saucers, as she fed him images of horror.

She showed him, in techni-demon-color, more than realistic, high definition, blood and gore detail, the deaths of everyone Dean had ever loved. He had front row seats as Azazel ripped his mother's abdomen open, pinning her to the nursery ceiling where he kept her alive long enough for her to feel the searing flames of Hell consume her. Then he witnessed as Azazel rammed his demonic fist into his father's chest, crushing John's heart until he died, without leaving any trace of injury or intrusion. And the continued torture he faced when his soul was dragged into Hell's depths. When John was hung by his feet, and dangled over the fires of Hell… and regularly immersed into the hungry flames until his flesh was cremated… over and over again. It was a cruel reminder that it was Dean's soul he'd saved, only to have Dean throw his father's sacrifice away, and sell his own soul into the very same damnation.

Meg chuckled, although Sam wasn't sure why. He was oblivious to the images she was feeding Dean… almost. Sam raced forward, hoping there was some way he could reach his brother…

"Sammy…" Dean panted with trepidation and anguish.

And finally Sam had hope…

Sam continued forward again, hopping over the lava pools, skirting where necessary, inching closer and closer.

"No… please… no… not again…" Dean continued. "Not Sammy…"

Sam had no idea what the demon was doing, that Dean hadn't actually seen him at all, but was lost, further in his mind, trapped in a memory of horror. But it was enough to prompt him into an act of desperation. Sam raced forward with complete disregard for the moat of lava that had separated them before. Somehow he had managed to avoid being devoured by the boiling molten magma…

Only he wasn't in the grotto any longer…

Sam halted and gasped as he recognized his surroundings. It was the deep of night, in the open air that was fresh and cold… He was in Cold Oak, South Dakota…

"SAM!" Dean suddenly screamed as he ran forward towards him.

As he continued his way towards Dean, Sam realized for the first time Dean actually saw him. He was finally real, and he hoped desperately that at last everything was going to be ok…

"Dean, this isn't real…" Sam pleaded, not wasting any time in attempting to release Dean from his tortured mind's nightmarish clutches. He jogged towards his brother. "Dean, this is all just a nightmare! It's not really Meg… it's just a dream. You brought me back! You saved me, Dean. Don't you remember? Jake can't kill me anymore. I'm alive… see? Bobby and I saved you too, saved you from your deal… with the Crossroad Demon. We pulled you out, Dean. You have to remember. Ruby, she kept you alive… You're really safe now, you have to believe me. This is all just a dream, a nightmare, and you can wake up! Please Dean." His words babbled uncontrollably as he neared Dean. Because finally Dean really could see him, and hear him!

"Sam?" Dean seemed confused. He knew something was off. This was new. With all the times Meg had forced him to endure this moment, over and over again it had always played out exactly the same… Sam always died… silently in his arms.

"Dean, you have to wake up!" Sam pleaded.

Dean paused cautiously, hesitant about approaching any closer. He appeared to ponder Sam's words; however his blank expression revealed his skepticism. It was a new tactic, Dean had to admit, but nothing was beyond Hell's torturers…

But if Meg thought that forcing him to relive Sam's death, however much she had managed to pervert the true reality of the memory, would wear him down, she would be sorely disappointed. Instead of breaking him, it gave him the strength to endure… no matter how often she made him relive it, it always reminded him that his sacrifice was worth every tormented moment. Sam's life really was worth it. Even if his firm resolve never lessened the grief and heartache of it all.

"I drank the dream root, Dean, that's how I'm here." Sam explained. "Jake can't hurt me anymore, you have to believe that! And nothing can hurt you! You have to _wake up_!"

"Dream-root?" Dean queried. He gazed at Sam like it was the younger that was delusional.

"Yes, you're safe… this is just a _dream_…" Sam reiterated.

Dean contemplated the notion once more, doubts plagued him, and yet somehow it seemed plausible…

"Sam, look out!" Dean shrieked desperately glaring at something beyond him.

Something slammed into Sam from behind, thrust into his back like he'd been hit by a bus. He felt his vertebrae grate and shatter with the brute force of the thrust. There was an intense agony as the pain bloomed upwards through his back, whilst all sensation to his lower limbs ceased. His body flared with a fiery surge of agony from the waist up. His legs deceived him, and his knees buckled beneath him. He was falling… Dean was running towards him, skidding in the muddy sludge… and he was tumbling forward… into Dean's arms… and he realized: Jake must have been there somewhere too, and just like before he'd let his guard down.

'_A dream…' _He repeated to himself, over and over… but it wasn't… panic welled up from his tangled guts. He'd messed up big time, again! He was trapped in Dean's formidable dream-scape now, and what ever Dean dreamed, he would be resolutely bound by… Sam felt as Jake administered his all conclusive twist of the dagger to ensure maximum damage… Everything was playing out just as it had happened a little over a year ago… he was going to die! He panted with terror; because he really could die again!

'_No'_ He thought to himself. _'I can stop this… it's a dream… it's not real!'_ But he knew he had to convince Dean, because with the strength of Dean's delusions he knew, for him, it very well could be real… He was dying all over again… Sam fought to remain conscious long enough to keep reminding himself it was all Dean's dream… he tried to force the false reality of the experience away…

"Your… apparitions… are too strong… for me… I can't… fight you." Sam pleaded with his last breaths. "Please Dean… don't let me… die again… you have to… WAKE UP!"

Suddenly Sam couldn't breath, the world went hazy. Icy cold replaced all sensation. And he was falling… There was darkness, or more precisely there was nothingness. And overwhelming cold… Somewhere through the darkening haze someone was calling his name.

"No, no, no, no, no! Oh, God!" Dean pleaded. "SAM!"

It was almost in slow motion, as Dean was forced to witness the instant Jake slammed the dagger into Sam's spine, twisting enough to know his spinal cord would sever… He watched again as the life was extinguished in his baby brother's eyes…

"SAMMY!" He called desperately.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

**A long chapter I know, but I wanted to justify Dean's apparent hysteria and continuing nightmares. And I figured if Hell was a never-ending carousel of torture and torment, Dean's dreams would be too. ****So I wanted to reflect that. And although Dean would always fight, 'to the death'… he would also know that his damnation was for all eternity and redemption completely impossible. So even though Sam and Bobby managed to save him, his mind simply wouldn't let him believe it to be true. And, even after his release, his body was still painfully ravaged by horrific injury so there was no reason for him to believe his torment of never ending pain and agony had ever ended. And if there's anything Dean Winchester does well, its build impenetrable walls around himself, keeping his own fears and nightmares within, whilst banishing everything, and everyone else out. (And I couldn't make saving Dean too easy for Sam!)**

**I realize I could have gone all out on what creatures probably reside in Hell's depths; the Winchesters have banished so many. ****(And I had a little fun and did create a few of my own.) I wonder if that's where ghost go too, once they've been salted and burned? But I had to rein the story in at some point, besides Sam's intrusion into Dean's dreams is only meant to be a brief insight into the much greater eternity of Dean's damnation. At any rate, I figured demons would top the feeding chain, and therefore the first to seek retribution upon the damned hunter. Reflecting on past episodes there weren't a lot of Demons I could find that were named and exorcised, so I took a little liberty with them… especially the seven deadly sins. I had to hypothesize just who the remaining four deadly sins were. Lust, Gluttony and Envy, I'm pretty confident of, the forth was a little hazy, so I picked Wrath, because Wrath would make an excellent tormentor. I hope you agree? **

**And Meg, she's like the Terminator isn't she? She crops up from the dead****, and Hell's damnation, over and over. But I always liked Meg (especially Demon Meg) so I'm glad she was exorcised and not killed so that I could play with her once more… and who else but Azazel's daughter would be the most feared by Dean? I just hope she doesn't mind me making her demon alter-ego a huge hulking (goat-like, of course) devilish creature, and seemingly male… but then again, she didn't mind hoping into Sam and seducing Jo…**

**I hope you have enjoyed my fic so far… its close to completion, so I hope you'll stick with it to see what will become of the Winchester brothers.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**chrissymi**


	9. Chapter 8

**I still have no medical training (psychologically or otherwise!) so please forgive me any inaccuracies. **

oooOOOooo

"Damn it Sam!" Bobby shook the hunter with a desperate passion. "Wake up! Please Sam…"

Sam flopped around like a rag doll in Bobby's frantic hands. His face had paled and Bobby's heart almost stopped when Sam had gasped desperately for breath… and then stopped breathing altogether.

"No, no, no, no, no! Oh, God!" Bobby pleaded frantically. "SAM!"

For some minutes, he'd watched Sam writhing on the bed. He'd tried to rouse him, over and over, but to no avail. Bobby knew as soon as he saw the coffee mug and the sickly yellow stain of the remaining Dream-root dregs on the bed covers, just what Sam had done. Sam was trapped in Dean's dream-scape of torment. And Bobby had no delusions as to what Dean's nightmares were composed off: it was Hell, pure andsimple. Bobby feared he would loose the younger Winchester to Hell's clutches as well. He knew first hand the devastating perils of poking around in someone else's nightmare: It could really kill. Knowing that Sam could possibly die was worrying enough, however when he stopped breathing, Bobby became frantic. He was devastatingly sure that somehow Sam had met his demise in Dean's dream world.

Bobby shook the young hunter with surging panic. Instincts took over and he tilted Sam's head back, pinching his nose closed. He was about to slap his mouth over Sam's to administer CPR when Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open, andhe gasped urgently to suck breath back into his oxygen deprived lungs. Bobby staggered backwards, both startled and relieved. Sam was alive!

"DEAN!" Sam shouted urgently, barely acknowledging Bobby now standing, stunned and bewildered beside him. Sam panted uncontrollably, and groaned with residual pain. His face was insipid and waxy, and swiftly glistened with a light sheen of sweat. He clutched his arms around himself, like a child, in complete horror. His eyes bounced around the room hysterically, although it took several seconds before any real comprehension was made. His expression calmed marginally as he realized he was back in Bobby's spare bedroom.

Bobby eased himself back to Sam's side. He moved to touch Sam; however he flinched away from the contact and swiftly shoved Bobby's hand away. He was almost as frazzled as Dean, Bobby though to himself.

Sam struggled to sit upright. He continued to pant with the lingering fear still surging through his mind. He could still feel the pulsating stabbing waves of pain in his spine, as if the wound had only just been inflicted. And he grimaced as his hand moved to the stab site. The pain was still very real…

Sam's frantic gaze found Dean's still form, lying in the bed beside him. And then the horror of Dean's incarceration in Hell flooded his thoughts, followed swiftly by a deluge of guilt for having been the cause of his brother's damnation. He'd finally seen Dean's fate and the knowledge held no reassurances what so ever. How could he ever hope to save Dean from the memories of such terrors?

"Oh God…" Sam moaned. Panic and terror, mingled with pain and revulsion, exploded somewhere in his guts and he stumbled from the bed, tripping and staggering as he sprinted to the bathroom.

Bobby could hear him hurling in the toilet some minutes later.

Bobby's gaze moved to Dean. He lay silently, lifelessly, his eyes gazing blankly up at the ceiling. He was deathly still…

"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed as he rushed to Dean's side. Dean hadn't been so motionless since he was comatose. And in that instance it was the 'deathly'-ness of his pose rather than the 'still'-ness that had Bobby panicked.

Andthen Dean blinked… and Bobby sighed with relief once more. Dean was alive!

He was as pale as Sam though, his face gaunt and grey, his eyes lifeless and still devoid of any comprehension. Dean remained completely motionless. It was a change to the constant agitated writhing he'd suffered since they'd summoned him back out of Hell, only maybe not for the better; instead he seemed almost catatonic.

"What did they do to you, son?" Bobby muttered to Dean as his imagination conjured up a wealth of ghastly tortures. "Will you ever come back to us?"

For the time being Bobby was simply relieved that both Sam and Dean had returned from the dream trip, albeit not quite unscathed. Whatever Sam had seen, had had quite an effect upon him. He listened as Sam continued to puke his entire stomach contents, into the porcelain bowl. After some minutes Sam flushed the toilet, and then rinsed his mouth out.

"Do I need to point out what a complete… and utter… stupid… God-damned… idjit youare?" Bobby ground out, when Sam returned. His emotions teetered between blind anger and utter relief.

Bobby's heart continued to pound in his chest as he tried to calm his stressed nerves. Sam was alive… And right now Bobby couldn't decide if he wanted to punch the impulsive kid out, for his impetuous stunt, or hug the living daylights out of him for having survived…

The hug won. Bobby grasped his still anxious, pseudo-son, into his arms and embraced him so tight he was sure he had crushed all his fears away from his still churning emotions. Eventually he released his grip and held Sam at arm's length. Bobby was thankful that the younger had a little more color in his cheeks, although he trembled in his grasp. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" He demanded.

"I had to, Bobby. I had to try…" Sam replied quietly, still unnerved by his experience. "For Dean…"

"Did you even consider just where Dean's mind is trapped?" Bobby demanded. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost them both, they were about all the family he had.

"I know…" Sam began to reply.

"And just what the heck did you find in his head?" Bobby demanded, although he had his own horrific suspicions. And Sam should have too! He should have known better!

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to remember it, didn't ever want to recall it; _never, ever_ again. Although he knew the experience had most certainly guaranteed that his own dreams would provide repeat showings in a nightly dose of nightmares. He still felt sick to the stomach, still trembled with horror, and he still feared Dean was no closer to coming back to them than he was before.

"Nothing…" He lied, not quite sure to whom, for neither he nor Bobby believed the deceit.

"So _nothing's_ got ya pukin' in my john?" Bobby accused, the relief washing away to leave perturbed anger. "Don't… bullshit me… son!"

"I can't…" Sam muttered. "It was too…"

"DAMN IT SAM! TELL ME!" Bobby demanded impatiently. He had to know…

Dean startled with the sudden out burst, his head jerking back in wild fear, snapping him back into his usual restless, apprehensive state. His breath quickened and his mouth contorted into a grimace of terror. He tugged against his restraints and eventually groaned with the self inflicted stabs of pain his agitated movements caused him. Not quite catatonic…

Sam shookhis head, and his face paled again. "Hell, Bobby, it was Hell…" He replied simply, moving to Dean's side. "Dean!" He sighed as he knelt by his brother, his terrifying memories churning at his guts once more. He suddenly felt like he had to puke again!

Bobby bit his tongue. As much as he wanted to know everything, he had to concede now probably wasn't the time to demand such recollections. Sam was still trembling from his ordeal, his face still only marginally more flesh tinted than straight out grey. But he'd needle it out of him eventually.

Unfortunately Dean had apparently returned to being hysterically trapped in his nightmarish delusions… again. Sam's reckless stunt had got them nowhere!

"Dean? God, I'm so, so sorry…" Sam whispered as he knelt by his brother's side, holding back the tears of despair. "Please Dean, you gotta hear me… It's ok… you're safe now. Please hear me Dean… you're safe!" For the first time in his life Sam had seen what Dean looked like when he was scared; really, really, scared… to the core.

It made Sam wonder why Death's latest hobby seemed to be a fascination with snatching his brother's life away and then casting him back into the land of the living… did Dean possibly have nine lives? And just how many lives had he really used up… did all the times that his soul was tortured '_to death_' in Hell count? And he wondered if his mortal soul would ever find peace, in death, like every other was supposed to?

Had he known, that Dean would suffer as he did, would continue to suffer, he'd have broken the Crossroad Demon's deal in the blink of an eye. His life could never be worth what Dean had suffered, and had almost suffered for all eternity. And he apparently still suffered now.

Cautiously Sam reached for Dean's squirming arm, trying to reassuringly grasp his brother's forearm, hoping that the tentative connection he'd made with Dean, in his dream, had remained. However Dean baulked, repelling from the touch and gasping in panic. He muttered incomprehensibly to himself; hysterical garble occasionally intermingled with frantic words like 'no', 'please don't' and 'stop it'. Sam's heart sank – he'd failed. The dream-root had been his one and only hope…

"How can I help him?" Sam moaned quietly to Bobby as a tear of devastation rolled down his cheek.

"We'll figure it out." Bobby hoped to offer, but his optimism was transparently hollow.

"Dean… please Dean… I need you to come back…" Sam pleaded with his brother again. His deed had to have worked, somehow… He knew Dean had seen him, had recognized him, and acknowledged him. He had made contact with him. "I know you saw me!" He implored desperately.

Dean's terrified gaze bounced between Sam and Bobby and back again. His eyes were wide and terror-struck as he cowered away, tugging at the restraints that bound him to the bed. Fear surged through him, along with suspicions and doubts; he was most securely bound, restrained just like he had been... in Hell.

The harder he struggled the more the agony increased. One strenuous wrench at his restraints had the ensuing agony accost him like a hailstorm of bullets. Every breath sent waves of stinging pain through his ribcage. And his skull felt as if it was sure to explode from the pressure building up behind his eyes. The pulsating waves of throbbing pain surging from every limb was crushingly potent. He panted with hysteria as he glanced erratically from one hunter to the other.

"Dean!" Sam almost cried. "Dean, please… you're safe. You have to listen to me… you have to believe me. You're really safe…"

Faced with the ongoing excruciating pain, the restraints, Dean had to fight to believe his brother's words of reassurance. How could he be anywhere else but in Hell's torture dungeons? And yet, it was Sam… and Bobby… who sat so close he could almost reach out and touch them… had he not been tied down.

Dean's confused gaze bounced around the familiar bedroom. Everything was as it should be; the furniture, the faded pictures on the wall, the curtains that needed changing some decades ago, even the slightly musty smell, and the overall feel… Sam and Bobby… There was no sulfur, no brimstone, or the stench of rotting flesh, no bubbling lava pit, or rats, or torment. No torturers, no demons, no minions…

Dean panted frantically, however his mouth briefly fashioned a word, a swift syllable amongst the breathless gasps and groans. "Sam?" he seemed to grind out hoarsely.

"Dean?" Bobby muttered as sat by Dean's side, opposite Sam. "Dean, can you hear me son?" It was the first time Dean had reacted to any kind of external stimulus since they'd summoned him back out of the depths of Hell. He had finally showed them some recognition, even though he gasped breathlessly in fear, and still continued to cringe away from them.

"Yeah Dean, it's me, it's really me. You're safe now." Sam consoled, still hesitant to make physical contact again. "You've been dreaming Dean… do you remember? I took the dream-root. You saw me, didn't you… in your dream?"

Dean frowned as he contemplated Sam's admission; as if he really were remembering… "Dream?" He whispered in query.

"Meg… she made you think we were back in Cold Oak…" Sam added, enthused by Dean's apparent break through. "And I was there, in your dream."

Dean jerked back, his terror amplified by Sam's substantiation to his nightmarish fears. He shook his head as if trying to banish the memory. "No…" He softly whispered. "…Jake!"

"Please Dean. It's really me – Sam! Jake didn't kill me… _you_ didn't let him!" Or so Sam surmised, because he certainly didn't have the strength to break Dean's fortified dream-scape himself. Dean must have somehow done it… even if it was only just in the nick of time! "I promise you: I'm safe! You're safe! We got you out… _You're not in Hell anymore_!" Sam ventured to state the truth in a blunt, direct statement. "_They_ can't hurt you, anymore!"

But there was still hurting… Dean's body was still tormented by pain and agony. Dean shook his head, he still hurt! His chest hurt, hacking away at his lungs with every breath. His thigh pulsated with agonizing throbbing, his arms were heavy with a constant ache. His head was in a vice, pressure was crushing down on his skull and what could only be Hellfire still burned in his shoulder. Except… it was a consuming ache… and then Dean realized… his _body_ ached. And he sensed the difference, between the agonies inflicted upon his soul, and the pain now surging through his body in nauseating waves. It was a pain he remembered all too well… from life!

"Sammy?" Dean eventually whispered hoarsely, however still hyperventilating in panic. His eyes blinked wearily, as his jarred and jostled body protested, as his real, physical pain, made itself fully known.

Dean moaned as he tried to raise his plastered hand up to his ravaged shoulder; however the restraints held him fast. And his doubts avalanched back upon him. The pain, the shackles… it had to be Hell!

As Dean tugged on the restraints with pure horror painted across his face Sam realized why Dean was so distrustful. Sam was reminded of his brief insight into the horrors Dean had faced. He'd been manacled by chains and had his limbs impaled by huge spikes. He'd been securely bound and tethered whilst a multitude of tortures were inflicted upon him… excruciatingly painful and agonizing torments. Hell had been filled with nothing but being chained to constant pain and agony. It had Sam leaping into action.

"Lie still." Sam whispered as he quickly began unbuckling the wrist restraint closest to him. Bobby, following Sam's lead, did the same with Dean's other wrist. "You're safe… you're really free… see, you're free!"

Dean moaned as he shifted his weight, his limbs sore and stiff, and pulsating with pain. He had an uncontrolled urge to move, to run and to fight if he had to… to escape the continuing torment.

Dean forced his ailing, weary body to shift, grunting with the hurt that resulted. As Bobby tried to grasp Dean's shoulder, the traumatized hunter lashed out with a now expected plastered wrist. Bobby's hand caught Dean's injured limb in his firm grasp, whilst his other hand swiftly moved to his shoulder in tender restraint.

"No Dean…" Bobby's hand was firm, but gentle as he urged Dean to lie back down. "You've taken a beating son." He informed him as he cautiously tried to restrain the injured hunter; however Dean's insecurities and doubts remained fast. Even though it pained him, Dean flinched from Bobby's touch.

Without a doubt he still expected Hell to reveal this as some twisted measure of its latest method of torture. Andif it did, Dean knew, this was most certainly Hell's ultimate 'pièce derésistance' in its long list of mental torment. Dean's gaze bounced around the room, jumping from Sam to Bobby chaotically as his harassed mind sought a means to process the landslide of thoughts and emotions that suddenly accosted him. He searched for a method to sort and assemble all his suspicions and uncertainties, and to some way reliably assess his present reality.

"Its ok, Dean, please let us help you." Sam cooed, with his trademark expression of pleading. "You need to lie still…"

Dean wanted to believe Sam's words, however Hell had already shown him it's most savage and devious methods of torture. A never ending tirade of torments, that left his mind numbed to any proper thought or contemplation, except for the awareness of perpetual agony and the on going panic of what was to come. His entire eternity had been leveled to that one sensation alone… pain and the certain expectation of it. And Dean had no delusions, he was sure there were an infinite number of torments still to come. He still waited for a demon, or creature, or the like, somewhere in the shadows of the room, to jump out of its box…

Only now he wasn't entirely beleaguered by the same blinding, all-consuming pain and torment. His mind was free to actually reflect… to contemplate and consider his surroundings, and the sensation was startlingly unnerving. And he had time to actually think.

"I promise you, you're safe." Sam repeated. "Look at me Dean… and you'll know; it's _really_ me." Because Sam knew, without a doubt, Dean would know it was really him. Dean always could, he knew him better than anybody else… he'd always known when he was angry or sad, had a crush on some chick, when he was happy or pissed off… and even when he was possessed. Dean would know he was his brother. Sam just knew: _Dean would know it was really him_.

Dean's weary gaze found Sam's face: It was tired, and alittle haggard, paler than it should be. A furrow of concern was etched into his brow, beneath his distinctive brown bangs. But there was a sparkle in his hazel eyes, a glimmer of relief and hope… Sam's likable, sincere, earnest spark was there. Sam's trademark grin appeared as he realized Dean really did see him. And just like when they were no more than kids, Dean's heart melted. Nobody could ever make him succumb like Sam could.

"Sam?" Cautiously Dean nodded his head and with lingering uncertainty he allowed his brother to ease him back down into bed. However, Dean continued to tremble with fear and uncertainty.

Sam pulled the blankets back over his savaged brother and sighed softly with cautious relief.

"I'm here Dean… I'm really here." Sam reassured him. "Right here…"

"It's really you?" Dean moaned. "Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's really me." Sam smiled again. He'd actually succeeded! He'd broken through Dean's fortified prison of nightmares. "…_Sam_!" He grinned a little wider, hoping Dean would recognize his usual retort at being called 'Sammy', instead of his preferred 'Sam'.

Dean tried to grin back in response; however his mouth pulled back into a grimace of pain instead. As his body tried to relax, tried to findsome comfort on the lumpy mattress and too hard bed, Dean moaned again. Flashes of white flickered at the corners of his eyes and his head felt strangely heavy and cumbersome. Every agonizing breath sent shock waves of blinding pain through his torso, stealing his consciousness away, little by little. He blinked the disturbing sensation from his mind, hoping to regain some measure of clarity in his thoughts. And then he realized: His painwas definitely different to Hell's pain filled torments. Hell never gave him a reprieve; there was never unconsciousness, never death! His present pain remained firmly steadfast, this paindidn't subside as his wounds swiftly healed, only to have new pain inflicted upon him. This pain was real, and on going. This pain was like the familiar aches of old; the pain of the tribulations of life… and unconsciousness was ready to claim him!

"It's ok, Dean… you're at Bobby's." Sam reassured him, as best he could. "You're safe now."

"I'm… free?" Dean queried suspiciously, his voice hoarse and strained, and more than a little breathless.

"Yeah. You're free." Sam confirmed. "Really, really free."

"How?" Dean sighed.

"Well that's a long story…" Sam grinned. "Let's just say it wasn't easy, but Bobby found a way. When you're up to it we'll share a six pack and I'll fill you in with all the details... Right now, just rest, ok… we've got plenty of time for talking, later."

Dean's eyes squinted closed as he moaned through the lingering agony of speech. Breathing hurt, speaking was excruciating. However a slight grin managed to curl the corners of his mouth upwards. Then he moaned again, a long agonized groan, as his body's suffering flooded every thought.

"I'll get you something for the pain." Bobby grinned with encouragement.

He cast the brothers a solemn gaze as he reached the door. Dean had allowed Sam to place his hand soothingly over his arm, although Dean's agitated, confused expression revealed the still overwhelming fears and horrors racing through his mind. It would take a long time before he could securely lock this experience away into his Fort Knox lock-box of emotions and painful memories.

_Even so, _Bobby thought_, Dean may actually survive this after all…_

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

To say that Dean had returned to them would have been a vast overestimation of his improvement. He was awake and aware, but his recovery pretty much stopped there. He remained agitated and edgy, every noise and touch had him jumping out of his skin; a situation that made Fred's task of caring for the still injured hunter a near impossibility. Even Sam had to approach cautiously and then calmly negotiate his way to his brother's side, without Dean attempting to leap from his bed and flee. But he at least warily allowed Sam to approach.

He trusted no-one.

And he feared everything.

When Dean slept, his nightmares plagued him with far too much reality. And he perhaps feared sleeping more than anything else…

Sam was the only person Dean would tentatively allow any proximity to him. Even so Sam could do no more than watch, and pray for some solace for his brother, when Dean was racked by the memories of Hell's reoccurring torments. And the pain meds Fred had at first given him, made him groggy and drowsy and only seemed to encourage the nightmares.

So Dean refused to take his medication, and he fervently fought sleep. He fought the notion of allowing his mind to replay his torments over and over in his dreams. Nevertheless, Dean's mind couldn't fight his body's overwhelming need for respite. He was in pain, severely sleep deprived, completely exhausted, and could no longer fight the plummet into a fatigued, half-sleep state where his mind had the freedom to wander, into territories Dean couldn't circumvent. Hallucinations and delusions of Hell had begun to mingle with reality.

Dean's waking hours were drawn out marathons of sheer will power on his own behalf. Even though his fears and anxieties ran through his mind at full velocity whilst awake, it was obviously his preferred state of consciousness. His nightmares denied him any such control. In the depths of sleep his thoughts were unbridled and his worst torments returned. Even Sam was worried that Dean could once again be consumed by Hell's cancerous claim on his mind and lost to them once more.

"Hey Dean…" Sam whispered softly as he moved slowly to Dean's side. "How're you feeling?"

_Dean cowered away, teetering almost on the opposite edge of the bed__ as something akin to Hellfire exploded behind the image of his brother, and flickered in his eyes. Shadows lurked somewhere in his peripheral vision, and he knew they were there, but only just out of his sight: Shadows of evil and vengeance, seeking to drag him back into the pit. And he could hear something breathing, and scratching in the wardrobe in the corner of the room. _

Seeing Dean squinting into the hazy light of the sunset outside, Sam pulled the blind down on the window behind him. "That better?" He queried softly as he eased himself into the rickety, uncomfortable chair by Dean's side.

'_Sam, it__'s really Sam.'_Dean told himself. He blinked the horrifying haze from his thoughts as he gulped nervously, nodding slightly in response. He didn't speak much, and Sam had long since stopped expecting any real response to his queries. He used the banter more as a means of distracting Dean whilst he inched his way to his side.

"You in any pain?" Sam queried.

Dean's hesitation, a brief scowl and silence was response enough. '_Yes.'_

Sam already knew he was in pain. His old Dean could mask the pain, like a Renaissance master artist, but with his mind so consumed by fears and anxieties, Dean's stoic fortifications were more than a little battered. And his jumpy, startled reactions to any change in his environment aggravated his injuries, beyond his means of concealment.

"Dean, you need to take these…" He suggested with hopeful authority. Sam uncurled his palm and showed Dean the two, yellow tablets he'd come prepared with. He held the pills up for Dean to see. "I know why you don't want to take them Dean, why you don't want to sleep, I do… but you have to."

It had been two days since Dean had willingly taken any kind of medication that made him sleep. He preferred to tough out the marathon hours of pain, fighting the onslaught of sleep and the nightmares that came bound with it. Apparently even old practices remained, for Dean never liked to be drugged or out of control. Dean still resisted anything that stole his consciousness. He resisted sleep tooth and nail, and Sam knew exactly why... he'd been the same himself, when he'd feared his own nightmares, of Jess's death. And he knew that Dean could only go on for so long before his body would eventually collapse to his waning will and give out with the exhaustion of fighting sleep.

"Fred says you won't dream with these…" Sam added with hope. Fred had reassured Sam that the almost horse-like-sedatives would allow Dean to sleep; deeply and restfully… without his usual nightmares. Not to mention pain free, at least for a few hours. "NO dreams… at all."

Fred would have willingly injected whatever drugs he thought necessary, intravenously, even if it meant Dean attempting an act of acrobatics and terror in trying to flee from him. Fred had even schooled Sam in the art of injecting the medication into Dean's drip. But it was Sam who had refused such tactics. Sam defiantly believed that the only way he could help Dean was to rebuild the bridges of trust. And any methods of deception were a sure-fire means of shattering such tentative connections. Sam had fought his case with solid resolve. Dean needed to know he was in control, that he had a choice. That was Dean's way.

Sam knew Dean could always handle the pain… their father had taught him that! But his body couldn't handle the exhaustion. Dean had to rest, and he had to sleep!

"Please, Dean, you have to let your body rest." But Sam also needed to know that Dean still had some inkling of trust in him… "I promise you, no dreams!"

Dean frowned slightly. There was no flat out refusal, so he was at least contemplating it, Sam realized. "Please Dean…" Sam pleaded with his big hazel eyes at their maximum beseeching intensity.

Dean nodded eventually. Too weary and pain racked to lift himself up, he cautiously allowed Sam the luxury of sliding his hand behind his shoulders to help him sit up enough to swallow the tablets. Dean still flinched with the close contact, both from panic and pain; although Sam knew he fought the spontaneous fears with every last effort. Dean didn't want to be so terrified, he simply couldn't restrain his shattered emotions enough to quell the explosion of trepidation and anxiety that every noise, movement and presence caused him. And even allowing Sam such close proximity was a battle in itself.

Swallowing the tablets was still a chore. Dean's weary body lacked much of his fine motor control, and his ability to perform even the simple task of swallowing was difficult. Sam slowly and carefully placed the tablets on the tip of Dean's tongue, and then gently raised a glass of water to his lips.

"Ok?" Sam queried softly. Past attempts had proved clumsy at best. Even drinking was still occasionally a challenge. The task had to be performed slowly and with Sam's reassuring guidance. He waited for Dean to lower his eyes in an affirmative indication.

"Just take a small sip…" Slowly he raised the glass, allowing a small dribble of water to flow into Dean's mouth. Dean swallowed the tablets back with an accompanying cough that sent shock waves of pain through his chest. Dean scowled with the agony, panting his way through the worst of the pain, until his weary body relinquished its grip on the ache. Eventually, after a few minutes, his moans and grimace of pain slowly subsided.

Sam remained by Dean's side until the elder's eyes grew weary and slowly slid closed. Sam went to shift, simply to place the remaining glass of water on the bedside table behind him, however his basic movement had Dean jerk back to consciousness.

"'s ok, Dean. I'm just putting the glass over here. It's ok, really." Sam comforted. "You're safe now." It was his standard verse of reassurance…

Dean frowned briefly, still fighting the sedative's effects. His eyes blinked heavily as he tried to comprehend. Then slight desperation showed on his face as he fought to whisper something of dire value to Sam. Sam recognized his need to speak, and leaned in close to his brother to listen.

"You'll… stay?" He managed to shift his plastered hand a few inches closer to Sam's as he made his plea, his fingers brushing his brother's in search of assurance.

"Sure Dean. You know I'll be right here." Sam tentatively placed his fingers over Dean's and squeezed softly. "I'll _always_ be right by your side…"

Dean nodded, with a slight grin of comfort. His eyes, too weary to remain open, slid closed once more and gradually his breathing evened out as the sedative took hold.

Sam smiled with confidence and hope. Hope that they'd get through this new round of trials and tribulations on the Winchester calendar of events. Slowly, together, they were taking small steps in the right direction. Somehow their brotherly bonds had survived the tortures of Hell, even if only just.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

With gentle coaxing and a ton of patience on Sam, Bobby and Fred's part, Dean began his long and bumpy road to recovery. Even so, his dreams, when they managed to surface upon the tail end of a drug enforced slumber, remained fraught with nightmares, and his waking interludes still held a world of apprehension and nervousness. However, gradually he accepted, not just Sam, into his self-built bastion of seclusion, but Bobby as well. Fred, however, was only ever allowed contact with a mass of reassurances from Sam or Bobby in preparation; he was, after all, still a stranger in Dean's eyes.

With his regained awareness they were able to try and have him eat, although Dean's appetite was almost non-existent. His carers still pretty much had to force feed him. After a week, when Dean had regained an inkling of strength back he was able to stand, and hobble, with Sam and Bobby's help and could be aided to the toilet and back. After a fortnight he was allowed down stairs, although he was still reliant on the help of both Sam and Bobby to get around. However Fred was satisfied Dean was on the mend, physically at least, he still warned Sam and Bobby that it could take a very long time before the torment and horrors of his incarceration in Hell would allow his consciousness any peace.

After a month, Dean remained skittish and easily frightened. He was still plagued by nightmares; however his stoic nature began to return, slowly at first, but distinctly there. Unexpected noises and touches would still startle him, only now he began to show signs of frustration at not having hid the emotion from his vigilant carers. But he'd also defiantly vowed that his wounds no longer pained him, although they all knew it was a lie. It was strangely reassuring to Sam and Bobby both, that Dean's incessant need to hide his fears, emotions and pain away had resurfaced with a vengeance. That wasn't to say that Dean's concrete stoicism wasn't a concern before everything went to Hell… or more precisely, he, went to Hell… Even so it relieved all three that his stoic nature had resurfaced; it was a sure sign their old Dean was on his way back.

Dean, if nothing else, could at least put up a solid façade of his former self, even if he left all those about him doubtful. Sam knew it was Dean's way, and that alone gave him solace that his brother was on the road to recovery. He'd have been more concerned if Dean hadn't tried to conceal his every emotion, every stab of residual pain and every lingering fear. Sam fought the urge to crack Dean open, to have him spill every terror and doubt that continued to lurk beneath every 'I'm ok' or 'I'm fine, _really_…' At some point, Sam knew, Dean would have to let it all go! Just like when their father died… the impending emotional fallout was approaching as the pressure was building and gaining momentum.

His body was well on the road to recovery; his lacerations were almost completely healed, with scars on the mend to becoming lost and intermingled with so many others beneath them. And Fred had reassured them all that his fractures had knitted as well could be expected. The redeemed hunter even began moving about unaided. He still managed to give himself grief, especially when he dreamt of the horrors he had faced, and unwittingly jostled and jerked his still fragile ribcage and tender flesh ravaged by painful scar tissue. But if it hadn't been for Sam's light sleep and observations, they would probably have been none the wiser. And that pain would probably only cease once his fractures and lacerations had fully healed, because it didn't seem that his subconscious would allow him any peace, any time soon.

When it came to healing, physically and mentally, he'd always been solitary in nature, needing to deal with the devastating mementos of the ordeal in his own time and space. Dean wasn't ever the type to need pity or pampering… not from Sam, or their dad, or Bobby for that matter. (Although, there were times, Sam knew, when Dean would use his injuries, post hunt, to his advantage to woo one woman or another… then he lapped the attentions up like a five year old!)

Like so many times before, Dean found his refuge in the car. The Chevy had been the closest thing, in his life, that Dean could actually call home. And she'd always been his salvation and refuge: The one constant that signified sanctuary. No matter his injuries, or state, he knew he was safe, once he was within her protective confines.

So it wasn't surprising that he'd taken to either tinkering with the Impala, or sitting, for as long as his weary body allowed, in the comfortable embrace of her driver's seat, soaking in the tranquil warmth of the sun in the afternoons and listening to his cherished mullet rock. Although both Sam and Bobby noticed that many of the titles now made him uncomfortable, those with any reference to death, or Hell or torment. Of the limited selection he seemed to favor AC/DC's 'Back in Black'. Perhaps because it reminded him that he really was back; he'd been 'let loose, from the noose… never die… got nine lives' even if he was now a little tainted. And although not exactly a Cadillac, he was 'back in black' – back in his Black Baby!

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Something about loosing himself under the bonnet of the Impala had a soothing effect upon the convalescing hunter. Nothing was actually wrong with the Chevy, and she probably didn't really need an oil change or a tune up either… but working on the Impala had helped him work through the grief and despair of his father's death; even if she'd born the brunt of his anger and frustrations as well! And the grim reminders of Hell seemed to drift away when he had his arms elbow deep in grease and grime.

Except that Bobby made a point of checking on him every few minutes or so.

"You want a soda?" Bobby queried, some ten minutes after enquiring if he was hungry.

"No thanks, Bobby." Dean nodded towards the half full cola can by his side. "I'm good."

Bobby lingered for a while, watching Dean's every move with the intensity of a laser beam. Bobby could see Dean was getting tired, but he knew better than to query it directly. "Sam was thinkin' we could hire a movie later…" He muttered instead.

"Yeah, if you want." Dean wrestled with an obstinate nut. Before… before Hell… it would have been a cinch to loosen, but if his wrist wasn't complaining with the task, his shoulder did if he switched hands… Feeling Bobby's need to intervene he grimaced as he put more muscle into it.

"You want me to…?" Bobby dared to query.

"I got it!" Dean snapped back defiantly, forcing his right forearm to comply with his wishes. He was almost sure his wrist was about to shatter before the nut finally succumbed to his force of will.

Bobby backed away, silently making his way back to the house as Dean continued to dismantle the finer workings of the Impala's engine.

"Want that sandwich yet?" Bobby pressed fifteen minutes later.

"No thanks, Bobby." Dean snapped back. His wrist was throbbing and his head had started to pound in the heat of the afternoon sun.

"I got roast beef…" Bobby added.

"No, Bobby, REALLY, I'M FINE!" He tried not to let his voice retort as angrily as the accompanying reaction that burst forth in his mind, however his words were precise and clear.

He hadn't been hungry, or thirsty, ten minutes ago, and he hadn't needed a hand twenty minutes before that, or needed a cap for the sun before that… He knew Bobby was just concerned, even Sam was, but at least Sam had the sense to stay clear after the first few angry rebuttals.

Bobby just didn't get that Dean needed time to himself. Didn't get that although he wasn't exactly, 100 percent, A-Ok, that he wasn't an incapacitated invalid either! Sure dogs barking had him on edge, as did pretty much any loud, sudden noise. He kept his distance from Bobby's gas stove, or more precisely the flame, and the clang of metal upon metal made his hackles rise. And his nightmares, when they fought their way into his drugged slumber, still had him startle back to consciousness with pure terror racing through his mindthat made his heart pound so hard he was sure it would smash its way out of his ribcage! Bobby obviously didn't get that no matter how much pain he was in, or how exhausted he was, he was still ok! Really, after literally having been to Hell and back, _and lived_, how could he now be anything else but ok? _He just had to be ok… didn't he?_

Even so, he only had about two hour's worth of endurance at the best of times, to hobble about, lifting and pulling, bending and stretching, before the aches etched themselves back into his scarred muscles and weary bones: When he just couldn't fight his body's need for rest, and the need for something to tame the retaliation of pain that his body punished him with. And the clock was already working over-time!

"You sure? You're lookin' a bit tired there Dean." Bobby reflected, taking note of the fine sheen of sweet upon his brow, and his ragged breaths. "Maybe its time to take a break… I can finish this off for you. Won't take me long to put her back together…" _no where near as long as it would Dean, at any rate._ Bobby knew his words were a mistake before he'd even let the last syllable slip from his lips in nothing but a regretful whisper. Dean was pigheaded about accepting help at the best of times… but Heaven help anyone thinking to tamper with his Baby!

"No, its ok. I'm almost done." Dean replied with a steady voice, leashing the urge to snap back again.

"Your hands are shakin' Dean…" Bobby regrettably made the observation out loud, but he was worried about Dean pushing himself too far, simply to make a stupid macho point. Sometimes the kid just had to be told, in no uncertain terms!

"I'm fine!" Dean gritted his teeth.

"Dean, you don't gotta prove anything…" Bobby began to rationalize his concerns, figuring somebody had to make the kid see sense.

"I'm not, Bobby!" Dean finally let his irritation seep into his leveled words. "I'm just… workin'… on… my… car!"

"Dean, there's nothin' wrong with the car!" Bobby retorted, imagining replacing the restraints on Dean's bed, if need be, just to make him rest.

Dean glared back at Bobby. "And there won't be! Not… so… long… as I… look after… her!" He ground out. And maybe if he could keep a forty year old Impala in good working order he could eventually fix himself as well…

Only right now, the world seemed to swoon a little with his anger, and his growing lethargy. The growing pain and exhaustion was making him clumsy and awkward. He blinked the uncomfortable sensation away, chastising himself for letting his broken body have such control over him. Dean staggered forward, catching himself on the Impala's fender to keep from pitching face first into the dirt beneath his feet.

"See Dean…" Bobby frowned with concern. "You're not… ok!" His hand went to Dean's shoulder in support. It was swiftly deflected with an angry frown that screamed _'Back off, or else!'_

"I would be, if you'd just… leave… me… the… hell… alone!" Dean regretted his spiraling anger and the resulting outburst, as soon as the dormant stabs of pain in his chest awoke. His fatigued body was failing fast; he had to escape Bobby's vigilant eye before he crumpled into a trembling mass of pain and exhaustion. He couldn't Bobby see him succumb!

He slammed the bonnet shut with such force his whole shoulder was jarred with agony. Instinctually heclutched at the offending joint as a groan escaped his tightly clenched teeth. He was sinking fast, into a blurry haze of dizziness and swamping pain! Bobby's concerns had stirred up the waves of agony and exhaustion, and Deanwas at risk of drowning any second!

"Dean?" Bobby sprang to his side, his hand clasping itself around Dean's arm in apprehension.

"I'm ok!" Dean ground out as he shook himself free of Bobby's grip. _'Never show weakness!' _John had drummed that into him since before he could remember…

"Ya gotta take it easy Dean!" Bobby replied with genuine concern.

"No, I don't! I'm fine, Bobby, just fine!" Dean snapped, unfortunately it was accompanied by an obvious grimace of pain.

"No you ain't!" Bobby snapped back. Dean had been pushing himself, far too hard. Bobby could see it, even if Sam refused to acknowledge it, and Fred apparently didn't see any harm in Dean's obstinate need for something to do.

"Damn it, Bobby!" Dean ground out. "Just… Just leave me the freaking hell alone!" He pushed past Bobby, who had to fight the overwhelming urge to wrap his arm around the obstinate hunter and assist him on his intrepid trek back inside. "I'M OK!" Dean repeated with irritation, forcing one foot in front of the other as he stormed off.

All the fussing and babying over him, just made everything so much harder to deal with! What with everyone thinking they knew how he felt, or should feel, with all their sappy sympathetic attempts to empathize: _How the hell could anyone ever hope to know what he'd been through?_ How could they even dare to think they knew what he should do to 'get over it all'! How could they possibly know what he should and shouldn't do, or, more precisely, what he can and can't do! All he needed was the time to actually figure it out for himself, for pity's sake!

His whole life had been ripped from him, at the jaws of Hell's hounds, and replaced with every conceivable, and indescribable torture and torment Hell could unleash upon him… _and now he was back with the living._Like nothing had ever happened? The entire concept was unimaginable! All he was left with was a shattered body and a huge gapping hole in his guts, like he'd drunk Draino. It all reminded him that everything was different, wrong even. He felt like he'd crawled his way through a battlefield and found himself having afternoon tea at a garden party. The extremes were at polar opposites… and should never meet! And yet here he was… trying to step back into 'normal', like it was where he was supposed to be, where he belonged. Only he didn't. He didn't really belong anywhere anymore…

Dean pushed past the powerless hunter and limped thankfully towards the porch balustrade to lean on as his shoulder screamed out in retaliation. His body was healing; however the lingering aches and pains could still be aggravated!

"The Hell you are!" Bobby was angry now too. If there was one family trait that he could attribute to the Winchesters it was stubbornness! As mules! And Dean had it in spades! He just wanted Dean to give himself the time to rest, like his body needed…

Dean paused, he knew he wasn't ok… but admitting it, wasn't something that came easy. Wouldn't change anything anyway. He had to do this, and explaining that to his over-protective warden was something he just couldn't put into words. He had to find his own path back to normal… Winchester normal at any rate!

Sam came tumbling out of the porch door with apprehension. "What's up?" He queried cautiously. Both hunters were obviously riled up over something.

"Nothing!" Dean snapped at him as he hobbled into the house, his concentration focused solely on keeping himself upright.

"Damned idjit!" Bobby mumbled under his breath as he stalked in after him.

Bobby hovered over the recuperating hunter like a vigilant mother-hen. And even Sam knew, on occasions, he hovered too close…

Sam hadn't actually allowed the concern of Dean's perplexed mental-state erode away the unashamed thrill, of him actually being alive. He knew Dean would deal with it… eventually. Dean always did! His emotions came locked in a solid suit of armor, pretty much impervious to every conceivable psychological or physical means of damage. Sam just hoped that once the dust settled and Dean had recovered physically, that his fragile emotional state would go away of its own accord. If Bobby could just allow Dean the time and space he needed…

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"You're going?" Bobby queried as Sam brought the Impala up beside the age-weary hunter. He knew it was on the horizon; even so, it didn't sit well with him.

Bobby leaned down to peer into the Impala. Two months had passed, and yet Dean was still suffering from his ordeal, and having taken a number of sleeping tablets, he must have slipped straight back into unconsciousness as soon as he was seated in the car. He lay slumped against the car door, and with his arms wrapped protectively across his waist he seemed painfully incapacitated. With the wounds to his thigh still tender, his leg was thrust out before him, as far as the cramped confines of the car would allow. The gory laceration across his brow, although faded, was the only visible wound to lay noticeable claim to his ordeal. It was hard to believe he'd come so far, in such a short time. His wounds would soon fade away, to mere scars, just like so many injuries before them. However the damage to his subconscious, to his soul, still plagued him. And that had captured Bobby's greatest apprehensions.

As Bobby gazed at the slumbering hunter he couldn't help but ponder upon the rising concerns he felt at the number of sleeping tablets the hunter had begun to take on a regular basis, for they seemed to be the only thing to put him into such a deep sleep they kept the nightmares at bay. He was sure Fred hadn't recommended anything close to the quantities Dean was taking! Bobby wasn't even sure Sam had noticed the number of prescriptions he'd already filled for the dream-a-phobic hunter. Even so, Bobby had to admit, it was good to see him like this, with his face still and serene, with a child-like innocence and peacefulness about him. And he also had to concede that Dean whacked out on sleeping tablets had to be better than the torment and terror his nightmares inspired! Bobby couldn't help but recall the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Dean; slouched in a similar manner in the same seat in the Impala, fast asleep by John's side, some twenty-something years ago… he was barely more than a babe himself, but already he'd been thrust into the vicious world of living nightmares.

And now Sam had decided to take him away.

Sam knew it was the right thing to do. Even the mention of moving on had given Dean a certain glimmer of hope, even if it was also mingled with trepidation. Sam knew, without a doubt, that if Dean was ever to return to his old self, he had to first return to what was always a constant in their lives: an open road and the Impala. The hunt could wait a while longer… something Dean could ease into once everything else had fallen pretty much back into place. Because, really, what else would Dean ever be comfortable doing? He was a hunter, through and through. Even though he wished Dean could possibly find some kind of normal that he could settle down to, Sam just couldn't imagine Dean ever doing anything else but hunt.

With all his good intentions, Bobby's soul topic of conversation revolved around Dean, and hedged clumsily around the topic of Hell and everything Dean simply didn't want to discuss! Both Sam and Dean knew it was only his best intentions that spurred his obsessive need to cosset and protect the battle-weary hunter. But Sam had decided that the Bobby, unfortunately, was precisely what Dean had to get away from. That and Bobby's suffocating need to hover and molly-coddle the obstinately independent hunter to distraction!

Sam knew Bobby wouldn't approve of them leaving so he'd waited until the elder hunter had made a trip into town for groceries and the like. He'd run his plan through with Fred first, in a length and detailed discussion on the phone. Fred had been confident enough that medically he'd done all he could for the redeemed hunter, so much so, that he'd returned home the week before. He reassured Sam that time and patience would have to take over now, although to keep a close eye on him as a precaution. Sam had his number, and Fred had emphatically assured him that he could call him any time he felt need to. So Sam figured, medically, he had that base covered.

Sam packed all their belongings up for their departure with well honed talent, and Dean eagerly followed his lead, albeit a lot slower. By the time the Impala was packed and ready to go Dean was visibly exhausted, again! And with his exhaustion came the growing aches and pains that still plagued his healing body. It was the subsequent wait for Bobby's return that had worn Dean down. The reoccurring pounding had begun in his head, to accompany the general throbbing of pain that pulsed through his weary body with a vengeance His emotions and fears began to churn as he contemplated leaving the sanctuary of Bobby's home. Not that he'd miss the smothering concern and aid that accompanied it, but because he had only just begun to feel safe there…

As their wait drew out longer than Sam had planned, he eventually urged Dean to take his overdue meds whilst they waited in the Impala. So when Bobby returned, the brothers were ready to go; because the Winchesters liked their 'Good-byes' short and sweet. If Dean fell asleep in the house Sam knew Bobby would in some way prevent them from leaving. Sam hoped it wouldn't be too long a wait; Bobby didn't usually like to leave either of them alone for any great length of time.

"Just away." Sam replied with a half smile of confidence, squirming a little under Bobby's intense glare of disagreement.

"Away?" Bobby scoffed with surprise as he examined Sam's face for answers. "Why?"

"Its just time, Bobby." Sam tried to explain, but how do you tell the likes of Bobby Singer that his over-protective molly-coddling was a strange and disturbing presence? That Dean just needed to work through his ordeal in his own way, in his own time?

"Where the…" Bobby bit his tongue. He'd curbed his use of the word 'hell' somewhat… "where, you plannin' on goin'?"

"I don't really know… just away." Sam smiled lightheartedly.

"You must have some idea where?" Bobby grunted. Even he knew the Winchesters were getting toey, hanging around the house. 'Hanging' was something no Winchester could apparently do for too long.

"No, just away..." Sam sighed. "Far away from… '_everything_'. I nearly lost him Bobby, from now on it's me that's gonna put him first for a change."

"And you think Dean's gonna let you?" Bobby frowned.

"Probably not." Sam conceded with a grin. It didn't really concern Sam, he'd try and that'd be enough. Right now Dean could ask Sam to eat nails for him and Sam would happily oblige. "But for now, he's so beat outta shape, he won't be able to do anything about it!" Sam smirked at his brother's sleeping form with relief. He'd try, at least, to give him some sort of reprieve from the life that had so many times almost claimed him. Maybe he'd even head for the Grand Canyon…

"And how long do you think you can stay away from 'everything'?" Bobby mused. "Or more precisely, how long do you think 'everything' will stay away from you?"

"Don't matter… a year, a month, a day… I don't care; I'll take what I can get." Sam admitted. "But he's gonna need some time… to really get back on his feet. Even Dean doesn't get mauled by Hell Hounds and dragged out of Hell every day... I think he's earned a reprieve…"

"Ain't wrong there Sam, he's faced things no good man should ever have to." Bobby declared. "I gotta admit, though Sam, I'm still worried; we still don't know for sure what all this has done to him. He's still pretty confused and disorientated, not to mention spooked by mere shadows, and..."

"Yeah… I know." Sam sighed, Bobby didn't have to go into details. And Sam also knew that Dean always managed to deal with the horrors their lives had thrown at them in the past. He'd eventually deal with this, however traumatic, in his own way. And he knew that's exactly how Dean would want to handle it. He'd want to be left alone to deal with it on his own terms, in his own time. "I just think he needs some time to find his feet again. I can't expect him to brush all this off with his usual cocky cynicism."

"No… I guess this may take a little more time." Bobby conceded. "You make sure you keep an eye on him, there's no telling what repercussions may still arise. Who knows what all this could have done to him. And once he gets to being himself again, don't let him try an' play superman like usual, he'll only hurt himself again!" Bobby muttered. _If he ever returns to true Dean Winchester style._

"You know I will. Fred set me up with a pharmaceutical stock pile of some really great stuff before he left." Sam replied mischievously, trying to lighten the mood. "If I have to knock him out…"

Bobby tried to feign a chuckle in response. "Well, its… umm… It's damned good to see the both of you boys back together again!" Bobby's voice cracked with emotion. And it was true, seeing the Winchester brothers, back in the Impala, back on the road… it was just right.

"Thanks Bobby…" Sam grasped Bobby's forearm affectionately. "You know… I couldn't have done it without you. You know Dean's grateful…"

"You know I'd do it again, if'n I had to… _just don't go gettin' me to, ok_?" Bobby frowned with seriousness. "And, besides, I think Ruby deserves most of that accolade." Bobby humbled. "She got in contact with you at all?"

"No, I still haven't heard from her… you don't think she could have, you know… died… been exorcised… again?" Sam hadn't allowed himself time to really speculate on what happened to Ruby. He'd been too caught up with Dean's fate to give her much more than a fleeting thought. It was only now that he'd pondered her fate, and her unusual disappearance.

"I ain't got a clue Sam." Bobby replied. "My guess is that she's living it up some place, enjoying her own escape from Hell. I guess if she's ok, she'll show up again… if not, maybe she realizes the Winchester boys ain't as gullible as she'd thought..."

"You think, she though we were gullible?" Sam queried.

"I think, she though she could play you…" Bobby clarified. When Sam's brow furrowed with a degree of offense Bobby added… "But she was obviously wrong!"

"Yeah, maybe." Sam remained ambiguous, without having to discuss the gory details. "You'll let me know if she contacts you, or shows up?" Sam asked as he started the car. The Impala obediently rumbled to life.

"Yeah, of course!" Bobby nodded. "You just look after your brother." Bobby added, giving Dean one last glance as he continued to sleep.

"I will." Sam replied, also giving his sleeping brother a cursory glance. "He tried to fight the meds…" Sam explained. "He wanted to say his good byes, but…"

"Its ok, Sam, I know." Bobby grinned. Gratitude and farewells usually weren't verbalized by any of the hunters, it was usually just understood, and so Bobby really didn't begrudge either brother the lack of such.

"Anyway… Thanks Bobby." Sam managed to put it into words. "I'll keep in touch. We better make tracks…" He smiled. "It's a long drive to 'Far Away'."

"I guess it is. You let me know when you get there." Bobby tried to smile confidently, however it was clear the Winchesters' departure was breaking his heart. "You know where to find me… when its time to come back… _home_." Bobby smiled.

Sam bit back a sudden gush of sentiment; however he failed to leash a broad grin. "You know we do!" The words tumbled out in a sudden rush of emotion.

Bobby Singer's house really had become something like a home… but not quite like the Impala of course!

Bobby fought to quell the welling tears as he watched the Winchester brothers drive away, like so many times before. The Impala slowly disappeared behind the row of trees that lined the roadside, and his heart sank. He knew the Winchesters were gone, he just hoped they would be back his way some time soon.

"Take care boys…" He muttered after them.

…End…

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

**So there it is, both Winchester brothers returned; mostly intact, mostly healthy and almost safely. **

**A****nd as I've mentioned before… **

'_**Please feel free to imagine the brothers driving off into the sunset, headed for Miami, the Grand Canyon, or the like, for some well deserved R&R, with plenty of sun, beer, women and lazy afternoons on the beach, or the like…**_

_**Yeah right! I couldn't quite visualise that myself! Let's face it; they'd hardly make it over the state line before something would either be on their asses, or lurking at the back of their wardrobe in their next sleazy motel!**_

_**Or sitting in the seat right next to them as they cruise down the 'Highway'…'**_

**I can only hope that you enjoyed my fic.**

**chrissymi**


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